


Alpha

by ItsMe_Basil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Disturbing Themes, Fox Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Post-Nogitsune, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, Stiles is ooc here which i didnt know until now, Stockholm Syndrome, This book is inspired by outlander, Time Travel, and a little bit of time machine, and timeline, i didnt know what ooc is which is surprising since ive been writing fan fiction for ten years, its on the more graphic side to beware, peter claims him, stiles is from the future, stiles is held against his will, thanks for letting me know i needed to update my tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 48,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsMe_Basil/pseuds/ItsMe_Basil
Summary: The pack knows the Nogitsune is gone, Scott bit the host. But Stiles still has nightmares and the lichtenberg figures haven't gone away, so he goes to the Nemeton for answers, only the Nemeton has other plans for him, and spits Stiles out in the year 1764, and right into the hands of the Hale pack -the original Hale pack.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 338
Kudos: 809





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting a lot of comments about the spacing in my stories. Unfortunately I can't get the space between my paragraphs. I've tried double spacing before I post, and I've tried going through my books to add the spacing later, and neither works!  
> I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

It had been 28 days since Stiles watched Scott bite the Nogitsune. 28 days since he killed someone or hurt his friends.  
The entire month of February came and went in 28 days, but it felt like it had only been yesterday that Stiles was waking up screaming in a place he didn't recognize. Less than 24 hours since he kidnapped Lydia and killed Allison. There wasn't a soul in Beacon Hills that Stiles hadn't hurt in some way.  
He still woke up screaming, still had trouble differentiating between what was real and what was not.  
Scott and his friends didn't understand -they knew, they saw it, but they didn't understand. Because the Nogitsune didn't just trick the people around him, he tricked Stiles too. Constantly.  
His sleep was plagued with images and flashes of all the bad they had done, the Nogitsune would whisper in his ear, torment him in his sleep. And it didn't matter how many times he checked the mark behind his ear or the lichtenberg figures burned into his skin, he was never quite sure he believed the Nogitsune was actually gone.  
He was still there, deep in Stiles' mind, torturing him.  
Stiles was sleepwalking still, but now when he woke up he was standing in front of the open fridge, or out on the front porch -a big change from waking up in the woods or in a basement with a bear trap on his leg.  
Stiles shivered just at the thought. His fingers deftly traced over the 己 behind his ear, as if doing so would block the trauma.  
"You okay?" Scott asked, glancing over at Stiles as they walked to the school parking lot. Stiles pulled his hand down to grab his bag and nodded. Scott's own mark had vanished -a side effect to being supernatural. The only other person in the group who still had theirs was Lydia. Allison would've still had hers if she hadn't died. That thought physically made Stiles wince, grip on his bag tightening.  
"You sure?"  
Stiles knew the pack had been reading his chemo signals. Ever since the Nogitsune, the four werewolves in the pack had been keeping an eye on him.  
"Yeah, I just remembered how bad I did on my biology quiz," Stiles lied, huffing. Scott placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing it firmly.  
"Me too. Who needs biology anyway?" Scott asked.  
"You do," Stiles said, reaching into his pocket for his keys. "You know how much biology and math is involved in being a veterinarian?"  
Scott frowned at that, not actually thinking much about it. "No, not really."  
Stiles climbed into the jeep, Scott getting in the passenger seat.  
"Are you sure you want to sit this one out?" Scott asked once Stiles got the jeep in motion.  
"Yeah," Stiles said with a shrug. "I've got things to do, and you don't need me."  
Scott gave Stiles a frown. "Of course we need you, Stiles."  
Stiles only shot him a half smile.  
"I think you can handle one full moon without me," he said. "Besides, Malia is so close to being in control, she won't be too much."  
Scott nodded in agreement. She really had gotten really good with control.  
"And you always handle Liam on your own anyway, and Derek will be there."  
"Yeah," Scott sighed. "But it feels different with you not being there. You're always there."  
"Not for the last two," Stiles reminded painfully.  
"That was different."  
It was. Stiles was possessed then. He might even still be possessed.  
Scott seemed to sense where Stiles' thoughts had turned. "Are the lichtenberg figures still there?"  
"Yeah," Stiles nodded, taking a deep breath. When the Nogitsune had puked Stiles out, the lichtenberg figures had shown up again, starting below his shoulder blade and winding it's way like a branch around his neck, behind his ear and up into his hairline. It had curled down his arm and across the expanse of his chest as well.  
Morell had said when the marks fade, the Nogitsune's grip would return. They hadn't faded in 28 days. Maybe it was the fact that they were still there that made it so hard for him to accept that the Nogitsune was really gone, that he wasnt just lying dormant somewhere deep inside him.  
It was the reason Stiles wasnt helping with the full moon tonight; he needed answers to questions no one seemed to know the answers to. And the only place he could think to ask them was where this all started. The nemeton.  
Stiles dropped Scott off at his house, then drove to the Stilinski residence. He waited until it was night time and his dad had gone to bed before getting back in his jeep and heading for the preserve.  
"I hope you're not gonna make me look for you all night," Stiles huffed out as he parked the jeep and cut the engine. He grabbed his flashlight and stepped out. After quickly making sure his phone and wallet were safely in his pocket, he began his trek into the preserve.  
He walked to the Hale house, using that as a starting point. He knew it was around there. He went south first, keeping his eyes peeled as he walked.  
It was two hours before Stiles found it, having walked in almost every direction from the Hale house.  
He sighed in relief when he spotted it and made his way there. The closer he got though, the louder the hum seemed to get, and Stiles frowned. It never hummed before.  
He stepped a little closer, his shoed toe kicking at one of the exposed roots. The moment he made contact the humming stopped, dropping the woods into an eery silence. The crickets and other creatures waiting with baited breath.  
Stiles swallowed thickly before taking a small step closer. How do you ask a tree if the evil spirit it kept sealed away was still inside him? Would the tree even answer?  
Stiles sighed, shoulders slumping. He reached for the bridge of his nose. This was why Scott usually came with him to these things. Stiles never thought anything through.  
He was just about to turn around and just go home when the humming started again, low and girthy. It made the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck stand on end.  
Stiles took another step forward, then another, and reached a hand out. He didn't know why he did, or thought about how stupid he looked, inching closer to a stump with his hand outstretched like he was trying to calm a feral cat.  
His hand was inches from the stump when roots suddenly grabbed at him, curling around his wrist and up his arm. Stiles yelped and pulled at his arm, dropping the flashlight.  
The roots pulled and Stiles fell forward. Only he didn't land on the nemeton -he just kept falling. And then he was landing on the grass with a thud that knocked the wind out of him, and his limbs felt shaky. He stayed on his back, staring up at the night sky. He had to recover from whatever that was. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his fast beating heart, and must've fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! I made a cover for this book! Check it out [Here](https://super-wolf-sterek.tumblr.com/post/625829148785606656/show-chapter-archive)


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles woke up to a pounding headache. He winced, sitting up. His breath caught in his throat as he looked around. These were not the woods of the preserve. He stumbled to his feet, spinning around in the clearing. The trees were different, smaller, new. He set his eyes to the nemeton and nearly fell to his ass as he staggered back. The flat surface was not smooth and worn; it was jagged, looking freshly cut down. It hummed loud and Stiles actually did fall onto his ass then in his scurry to get away. He turned, propelling himself to his feet and running as fast as he could.   
Something was very wrong. Stiles tripped on a vine weaved across the forest floor, grunting as he landed hard on his chest.   
"Scott!" He called, scrambling to his feet. He ran faster, hoping as he called louder that his friend would hear him, would wake him up, bring him back.   
Instead, he ran into a clearing, and his cries died in his throat. In front of him stood the remains of a small town, burned and smouldering. Stiles staggered forward, taking in the bodies on the ground, the strong scent of blood and fire stinging his nose.   
He managed to find himself in the middle of the town, eyes widening when he saw a group of men with an equal number of horses. What was happening?  
"Looks like we missed one." Stiles blinked, eyes falling on the man who spoke. He was dark skinned with short hair. He dressed like he'd just come out of a historical reenactment. Maybe this was all it was.   
"I'll take care of it," another guy growled, and Stiles' breath hitched in his throat as his eyes flashed blue. Werewolf LARPers?  
He stepped back, knowing it wasn't that innocent. At the back peddling, the werewolf's stride turned into a run, and Stiles bolted to the right.   
The wolves behind him hollered, laughing at the chase. Stiles was not laughing. He jumped over bodies and fallen support beams and piles of brick.   
He had been chased many times by werewolves -his pack chased him in play- so he knew how fast they could be.   
He weaved right, using a metal post to help turn him sharp and the werewolf growled in anger.   
Stiles decided the trees would be the best route, but before he could reach them, a horse jumped out in front of him and Stiles skidded to a stop just as a man jumped off. Stiles spun around but the man grabbed him before he could take off, and Stiles let out a shout, kicking at the air. The man behind him laughed at his pitiful attempts at escape.   
"He must've hidden in the woods," the man chasing him said, coming to a stop in front of Stiles and the man holding him to his chest.   
Stiles grunted, panting heavily as the other wolves trotted over on horseback.   
"What do you wanna do with him?" Another one asked. Stiles noticed then that some of the horses had more than one rider, and his eyes widened when he saw a couple of the people behind the rides had rope tied around their wrists.   
The man grabbed Stiles by the hair, tugging his head back into it was resting on his shoulder, and ducked his head into Stiles' neck.   
He took a long inhale, and Stiles grunted, shoving at him and turning in his hold. He chuckled, releasing his hair.   
"I think I'll keep him," the man said. Stiles grunted, shoving at the man's arm around his middle. He let out a surprised yelp when he was lifted off his feet and flung at the horse.   
The moment he was in the saddle, the man was climbing on, right behind Stiles and pressing himself in, until Stiles had no room; he either sat on the saddle horn or in the wolf's lap.   
Arms trapped him in place, grabbing the reins. Stiles felt his back pressing into a hard chest and wished he could wake up.   
The man kicked his horse into motion, jostling Stiles. His body tensed, legs squeezing around the animal under him and hands grabbing the saddle horn at his crotch. The rest of the pack followed.   
Stiles ran over everything in his mind trying to piece everything together and figure out what the fuck was happening.   
He had gone to the nemeton, with questions about his psyche, or lack thereof, and the thing fucking grabbed him.   
He remembered falling, but the ground was farther away than it shouldve been. But then it rushed to him and he woke up to a younger forest, and now, he was on a horse in the middle of Northern California with werewolves dressed in tunics and animal fur with belts holding knives and swords, and Stiles was pretty sure he had seen a musket on a couple of the horses. He wasn't in his time, he decided, heart sinking. The nemeton sucked him in and spit him out in a different time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really seemed to like the first chapter so here's the second! It's a little shorter than I usually write but I'm still getting a feel for the story!   
> Thanks so much for the comments on chapter 1!   
> Keep 'em coming I'm out of my comfort zone with this book!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys! I'm so glad you like this book! I didn't expect this many comments or kudos!

They had been moving for an hour now, and Stiles' ass felt bruised. The pack were talking to each other about what they had pillaged -women, furs, weapons and food- and having a great laugh about some of the more 'fun' killings.  
Stiles shivered at the thought. He wondered briefly if they'd be laughing about his own death if the werewolf currently pressed to his back hadn't swooped in and claimed him. Another shiver ran down his spine at the thought.  
Derek had told Stiles about claiming. In modern times it was a bit like those romance novels you saw older women reading in the lawn or gossiping about in the cafe. But Derek had mentioned -rather briefly- that claiming had been more about pleasures of victory, than love.  
Stiles knew the claim on him was not the one made out of love. He had stumbled onto a battlefield, and had been claimed, just as the woman on a few of the horses were.  
"Drink," the man behind Stiles said. Stiles glanced down to see a waterskin bag being held out to him, and the sudden dryness in his throat made the offer tempting. Stiles didn't move to grab it though.  
"We have two hours before we make it to the pack," the man continued, shoving the bag into Stiles' lap. "Drink."  
Stiles grabbed the bag, pulling the cork and bringing the lip to his nose, trying to figure out what it was.  
It didn't have much of a smell, at least it didn't smell like poison or alcohol. It smelled like water, from a river. He hesitantly brought the bag to his lips, having to use two hands to hold the bag up and cold water rushed into his mouth, dribbling down his chin and soaking his shirt.  
He managed two gulps before the man behind him grabbed it from him. Stiles let it go, and listened to him drink from it too before corking it and putting it away.  
Stiles wiped at his chin with the sleeve of his flannel shirt, wondering if he'd be able to push the werewolf off the horse and book it.  
The idea was quickly dismissed. He didn't know how to ride a horse -this is the closest he's ever been to one- and the arm that suddenly wrapped around his front would mean he would be tugged off the horse as well.  
"Whoa, whOA!" Stiles yelped, squeezing his legs around the animal and shoving at the hand that had decidedly grabbed his dick through his jeans. The horse made a noise and a kick at the sudden pressure at his sides, propelling the animal into a half second gallop. The werewolf behind him laughed, pulling on the reins to calm the horse down.  
Thankfully, the hand retreated. "You can't just- just grab me like that!" Stiles grunted, spinning his upper half to glare at the man. He was smirking, amused by Stiles' reaction.  
"You're mine, I can grab you however I want to," he stated, making Stiles glare.  
"I'm not yours," he snapped. The werewolf surged forward then, catching Stiles' mouth with his own. It was rough, and Stiles felt teeth bite on his lower lip before Stiles yanked his face away. He jutted an elbow back, really meaning to knock him off the horse, but before his elbow could actually hit it's intended target, the werewolf had grabbed it. Stiles went for the other elbow and he promptly grabbed that one too. He grunted, thrashing and cursing.  
And then within a second he was leaning over the horse's neck with his arms wretched behind his back and his abdomen pressing painfully into the saddle horn. The horse continued on the same path even without anyone holding the reins and Stiles struggled to pull his arms free.  
"I swear to fucking God you better let me go!" He shouted, drawing the attention of the other pack mates. They chuckled as Stiles loudly protested the current position he was in.  
"He's got fight in him," one chuckled, moving thr horse to walk beside them. Stiles grunted, feeling the werewolf push him further over the saddle horn.  
"Just wait until my alpha finds out I'm missing," Stiles continued. "You'll be sorry!"  
The two werewolves laughed.  
"Your alpha is dead," the one behind him said, bringing the hand not currently pinning his arms to his back to the collar of his shirt.  
"Let go," Stiles nearly growled. The man pulled down his collar, revealing more of the lichtenberg figures branching off his skin.  
"You're a warrior in your pack," the hummed, as if that surprised him. Stiles grunted. He was no warrior. Possessed, most definitely. Human, yes. A scholar, more often than not. But a warrior? No fucking way. Derek was a warrior -shit, even Kira was a warrior. Stiles was the human that kind of brought them all together.  
"Your alpha must've been desperate."  
Stiles really wanted to hit him. He fisted his hands, glaring.  
"I'm not a warrior," he snapped. "And my alpha isn't desperate."  
Scott was anything but desperate. Stiles would call him delusional before he ever called him desperate.  
The man leaned forward, chest pressing into Stiles' back, pinning his arms painfully. He grunted, feeling the werewolf's nose press into the skin of his neck and taking a deep breath.  
"Your pack was young," he mused, pulling back. "And diverse."  
"They're not dead," Stiles growled. He spent too much time with the pack, he thought. He was growling and snarling. He had even caught himself on occasion curling his lip at people. One time he even sniffed at his dad like some dog when he couldn't visibly see anything different about him.  
He blamed Derek.  
"But they are a long ways from here," the man said. "Why are you so far from home, mo pheata?"  
Stiles let out a breath when the man pulled his arms back, allowing Stiles to straighten.  
"I got lost," he grumbled, facing forward. It wasn't a lie, he was lost, it just wasnt a matter of location as it was time. He still didnt know what time period the nemeton had spit him out.  
Stiles silently devised a plan to get himself back to that damn tree and force it to send him back to his own time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't name him yet, but the werewolf who claimed Stiles is in fact Peter! I rewrote the chapter, not liking where it was going, and the whole name exchange didn't fit in the revision! But he will be formally introduced in the next chapter, as well as the more triggering themes to the book!


	4. Chapter 4

He had a plan thoroughly thought up by the time they made it to the rest of the pack. He'd escape the moment he could. Knowing wolves were faster than him, he decided a horse would have to be his get-away car, and he really hoped they weren't as hard to control as he thought they were.   
His plan got a little easier when he realized the pack was living in tents. They were made of leather and fur, only six feet in height and wide enough to house two people. All Stiles had to do was sneak out of a tent instead of a building.   
The werewolf behind him lead the two through the tent field, stopping on the other side, to a tent set up a distance away from the rest. Even better.   
It was set up under a tree, and he jumped down to walk the horse the rest of the way. He tied the reins to a branch before reaching for Stiles.   
He grunted as he was pulled off the saddle, his ass throbbing and his legs jelly.   
He was dragged into the tent by his wrist, the flap falling and covering the two in darkness.   
The werewolf let his wrist go and Stiles took a step back towards the door. The hand grabbed him again and yanked him deeper into the tent. He yelped when he was literally picked up and thrown onto what felt like a pile of fur.   
A second later, there was a fire starting in the middle of the tent. Stiles blinked, seeing the man drop the flint stone down beside it. It was small, enough to illuminate the tent, and then the man was standing up and pulling the fur from his shoulders.   
Stiles sat stiffly where he had been thrown, one leg bent against the fur pile, his elbows holding him up. He didn't want to move in fear of being spotted.   
"What's your name?" The man asked -more like demanded- as he removed everything but his tunic and pants. He looked over at Stiles expectantly.   
"None of your business," Sriles found himself retaliating. The man raised an eyebrow in challenge.   
"Give me your name, or I will give you one," he said, making Stiles swallow thickly before dropping his eye contact.   
"Stiles," he muttered in defeat. It wasn't like the guy would have use of it; Stiles was planning on being long gone before midnight if he was lucky.   
The man hummed before stepping up to the pile of furs Stiles was beginning to think was the bed. His heart dropped.   
The man placed a hand on either side of Stiles' hips, leaning over him. Stiles saw the animalistic need in his eyes and felt his own widening. He pushed himself back onto the bed. The man followed, and Sriles heart jack hammered behind his ribs.   
"Don't touch me," he managed to get out. The man laughed, dropping his head into Stiles' neck.   
"You aren't really in a place to make demands," he countered. Stiles realized a little late that the man was scenting him, and he brought his hands up to push at his chest.   
He grunted when the man lowered himself, trapping Stiles to the bed.   
"Alpha!" Someone called. Stiles froze at how close the person was, and the man lifted his head from Stiles' neck. Stiles' eyes widened.   
"Alpha!"  
And Stiles' pale skin grew even paler.   
The man smirked before moving away from Stiles and pulling the flap back. Stiles lurched forward the instant Hale left the tent, head in his hands as he struggled to suck in a breath.   
This could not be happening. He stood to his feet, heading for the door. He just reached for the flap when it was pushed aside and the alpha walked in. Stiles stumbled back to keep from getting run over.   
The alpha straightened, looking down at him. He was a couple inches taller than Stiles, and was built like Derek; broad shoulders, which chest, built for muscle. Stiles swallowed down his fear, instead glaring at him.   
"Who are you?" He demanded. The alpha smirked, but it was dangerous, like an animal curling its lips back before lunging for the jugular.   
"Peter Hale," came his short reply, and Stiles nearly dropped to his ass in an attempt to put more distance between the two of them. He knew the name unfortunately, very well.   
Peter Hale, born 1730, died 1765 in a fight for territory. He was the alpha that brought the Hales to Beacon Hills, founded the land Stiles had been born on. The land that had been in Hale territory for nearly three hundred years.   
"You're dead," Stiles said, blinking. He didn't mean to say it, but the sudden rush of knowledge sent his brain to mouth filter reeling. He was stuck somewhere between 1730 and 1765, and judging by Peter's age, he assumed it placed him close around 1750.   
"Not yet," Peter growled, stalking towards Stiles. He let out a frightened sound and scrambled back further.   
Peter grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him back and tossing him for a second time into the bed.   
Stiles yelped, trying to climb out of it before Peter pinned him down, a hand ripping at the front of his shirt.   
"No! Let go!" Stiles shouted, kicking and shoving at the alpha above him. "Get off!"  
Peter growled, snapping his teeth. Stiles let out a strangled noise, trying to get out from under him. He got his chance when Peter released him to reach for his tunic, and he ducked under his arms, barely making it off the bed before Peter grabbed the back of his shirt. Stiles slipped out of it easily, being torn in the front and he headed for the tent opening. Horse be damned, he'd just run.   
He made it outside, took a step and was yanked off his feet. Stiles let out a shout, his legs kicking as Peter dragged him back into the tent.   
"No!"  
Peter growled loud, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine, but he continued to fight. He was on the bed again, this time on his stomach.   
Peter had a hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and Stiles thrashed under him.   
"Submit," Peter growled. Stiles grunted, kicking harder.   
"Let me go!"  
Stiles yelped when his jeans were ripped from his hips, exposing his ass. He tried to spin around, to get his hands under him and push himself up, but Peter was too strong, and he felt Peter undoing bis own pants, the sound of fabric rustling sending Stiles into a panic.   
"Sumbit, or I'll make you," Peter threatened. Stiles managed an imitation of a growl, refusing.  
Peter growled right back before letting Stiles go. He shoved himself off the bed, but the arm that wrapped around his hips kept him from going far. Stiles hit at Peter from behind, yelling and struggling in his hold.   
He forced Stiles on his knees, pushing his face into the mattress.   
Stiles yelled and cursed louder when he felt Peter kneel behind him, a hand holding his hip to keep him from moving his ass.   
Stiles let out a cry when Peter rammed into him, no prepping and no lube. Tears pricked his eyes and he gasped out a strangled sob.   
"You will submit to me," Peter growled low, pulling out before snapping back. Stiles reached a hand back, palm flush against Peter's abdomen in an attempt to get him out. He let out a sob as Peter rammed into him again and again.  
It hurt -fuck it hurt so bad. Stiles hadn't felt this much pain before. His thighs shook under him. Peter was bigger than anyone he'd ever been with before, and he had gone in dry and Stiles knew there'd be blood when he was finished.   
Peter grabbed Stiles by the shoulder, bottoming out in Stiles before yanking him off the bed.  
"Please, st-ah! Stop!" Stiles felt Peter wrap his hand around his throat, forcing Stiles to press into Peter's chest as he fucked him hard.   
"You're mine," Peter growled, tightening his hold on Stiles' neck. He let out a pained whine turned yelp, his nails digging into the skin of Peter's hip, trying to push him away.   
"No," Stiles cried. Peter tightened his hold on Stiles' neck, snapping his hips in fast and hard. Stiles couldn't help the whimpers and whines or the grunting breaths as Peter assaulted him, his eyes squeezing shut.   
Peter grunted and Stiles' eyes widened. "No, no, no!" He cried, beginning to struggle a lot in his hold.   
Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles as he did, and Stiles let out strangled cries as Peter got closer to cumming.   
"Stop!"  
Another quick thrust and Peter was cumming, burying himself deep in Stiles. Stiles shoved at him, trying to pull himself free in a too-late attempt to stop him.   
He let's out another broken cry when Peter let's him go. He falls to his hands and Peter pulls himself from him.   
When he does, Stiles turns, forcing himself to thr furthest spot on the bed. He could feel cum leaking from him and let out a whimper.   
He didn't watch Peter pull his pants back on, and barely moved after he left the tent, his muscles sore. He scrubbed at the tears in his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy you guys are liking this story! I'm liking the newness of it! I'm not used to writing this type of work!   
> Anywho, to put some questions to rest, Stiles isn't the damsel in distress type, so don't worry about him loosing that Stiles sarcasm! His words will still cut like a whip and I'm sure he's going to give Peter one hell of a hard time!   
> On the flip side though, Stiles is going to have a mourning period, but don't worry, all will be right with the world! Or as right as it can be when you're forced into a different time period!

After an hour and no Peter, Stiles climbed onto shaky legs, yanking his pants on and cursing when he noticed they wouldn't stay up; not with the giant tear at the side.   
He searched quickly and found a length of rope, tying his jeans on before making his way to the tent entrance.   
He pushed the flap over, noting the sun already setting. He looked around, noticing a lot of the males in the pack were gone, leaving a few women and some children, but none were paying attention to Stiles.   
He snuck around the back of the tent before sprinting off to the woods, not bothering with the horse still tied outside.  
He ran as fast as he could, jumping over rocks and fallen trees, arms flailing and ass seriously hurting. He pushed though, trying to get as much distance between him and Peter Hale as possible. He didn't care which direction he was going in. He could hide and wait Peter out and then find out how to get back to the nemeton.   
He cursed when branches cut at his bare chest, leaning behind a scent.   
He slowed, veering right and pulled up to a tree. He'd seen survivor, and his dad watched Discovery Channel almost religiously, so he knew the first thing he'd need to do was cover his scent.   
Stiles was running again, hoping to pass a river or a puddle or something.   
His prayers were answered and he nearly cried. He dropped to his knees into the river, digging his hands into the river bed and pulling up handfuls of mud and sticks.   
He quickly dumped it on his head, smeared it over his chest and any exposed skin he could reach. He soaked his jeans in the water and mud.   
He jumped to his feet again and trudged to the other side of the bank, and then took off into a run along the riverbank.   
He didn't feel far enough away to stop running, but after an unknown amount of time his legs gave up. He stopped, breathing hard. The mud had dried and flaked off, and he hoped it was enough to cover his scent for a little bit.   
He had -at some point- left the river and was now deep in the woods, completely lost. The sun had disappeared behind the trees, leaving only a few rays of light to see by.   
He dropped to his ass, wincing at the flair of pain before leaning his back against the tree, taking a deep breath.   
He was about two hours away from the Hale pack, and he needed a second to rest.   
*-*  
Stiles jolted awake to the sound of a sword being unsheathed. His eyes flashed open and he went to get up, but the sword was pressed to the tree beside his head.   
His heart beat slowed when he realized the man above him wasn't one he'd met before.   
"You need to go back to your alpha," he growled, eyes flashing yellow in warning. Stiles stilled, looking from the blade to the man before giving the smallest shake of his head.   
"I can't," he managed. "I can't go back."  
"Well you can't stay here," the man said gruffly, sheathing his sword again and taking a step back. "You smell like him; he'll be looking for you."  
Stiles climbed to his feet, using the tree behind him to push himself up. He held out a hand, soothing.   
"I'm trying to get to the nemeton," he said. "Do you know where it is?"  
The man furrowed his eyebrows, taking another step back. "Why would you want to go to that demon tree?"  
"I need to go home," Stiles said, sounding more desperate than he'd like to. "Please."  
The man looked Stiles over again, and must have seen something especially desperate, because he sighed and dropped his head.   
"Come with me," he said. Stiles sagged in relief, quickly following the werewolf deeper into the woods.   
They walked for about twenty minutes before they came up to a small cabin. The flickering light of a fire illuminated the windows, and the werewolf pulled the door open, letting Stiles inside.   
Two other men were sitting at the table, and they looked up at Stiles with frowns.   
"He's not staying," the first man says, scurrying off into a seperate room.   
"You smell like that alpha," one guy said, scrunching his nose. Stiles would have to do a better job of covering his scent then.   
"I ran into him," Stiles said briefly.   
"You running away then?" The younger man said, eyeing Stiles with a little sympathy. All Stiles did was nod, and then the first man was walking back.   
"Put these on, it's not much but it beats what you've got on now."  
Stiles grabs the clothes from him and thanks him before throwing the tunic over his head.   
"Where are you headed then?" The younger asked as Stiles discarded his jeans and pulled the cotton material pants on.   
"Nemeton," the first guy said with a shake of his head. The other two men had wide eyes when Stiles looked back up, and he blinked owlishly.   
"Damn," the second man whistled.   
Stiles fished through his jeans pockets, grabbing his phone keys and wallet before stuffing them into the pockets of his new pants.   
"I just need directions," Stiles said, straightening with jeans in hand. "I don't want to bother you."  
The youngest stood up and walked to what Stiles assumed was a kitchen and grabbed a quarter loaf of bread, tossing it to Stiles.   
"You'll be walking a ways," he said, plopping down on the chair again. "Go west for about an hour, then north, and you'll hit the nemeton -or at least be close."  
"Thank you," Stiles said. The first man escorted him out of the house.   
"Be on your way now," he said, looking sternly at Stiles. "We don't want any trouble with that alpha, so you best be going before he follows your scent right to us."  
Stiles nodded and sprinted from the house, bread tucked into the waistband of his pants. Thankfully the boy had pointed west, otherwise Stiles would've just gotten lost. It was dark now, too dark to see too far ahead of him, so Stiles slowed to a fast paced walk. He wanted to get home with as little injury as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos! It helps me to post knowing people actually like what I'm writing!


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles had walked for an hour -his phone still worked so he checked- and then turned north and continued his trek.   
At some point he had stopped at a patch of wild flowers and rubbed them over himself. He pissed in a river when he needed to, and figured he'd just hold it if he had to do anything else.   
He stopped when the earth fell away to a steep decline. It could be considered a cliff, but it was only ten feet down. At the bottom was a lake, and Stiles could make out the outline of it. He knew the lake. It had to be Beacon Lake, which means he was about four miles south of where the Hale house would stand when it got build.   
The nemeton was somewhere between here and there, and Stiles felt relief flood him.   
He found a perch against a tree over looking the lake, and took the quarter loaf of bread from his pants.   
He was so hungry, he ate the whole thing in under a few minutes, and sagged against the tree, eyes drooping.   
When he woke up again, he was glad there was no sword pressed to his neck. The sun was up and the birds above him sang loudly.   
Stiles climbed to his feet, dusting off his pants before looking around.   
The best course would be going around the lake. It would tack on a little more time to his journey, but he was so close to getting home that he didn't mind.   
His legs shook with effort as he slid down the decline, trying not to fall into the lake. He stopped himself just short and adjusted himself before beginning his walk.   
During the day, it was a lot easier to navigate. He took his time, knowing he was too far from the Hale pack to need to worry about them catching up with him.   
He walked for another mile and a half before a familiar clearing caught his attention.   
"Thank fucking God," Stiles said, near tears as he broke off into a sprint. His legs burned, his chest heaving. He was so close he could scream.   
And then a hand grabbed at his tunic and he was yanked off his feet.   
Stiles let out a yelp, landing hard on his back before someone was on top of him, a knife pressed into the skin of his neck.   
"Well would you look what we have here," the man snarled, and Stiles felt a sob rip from his throat.   
"Alpha Hale will be very pleased to have you back," he chuckled, pressing the knife deeper into Stiles' throat. It was the man who had chased Stiles before Peter grabbed him.   
He was pushed onto his stomach and Stiles let out a cry, struggling to get away. The werewolf quickly pulled rope out of his belt, winding it around Stiles' wrists before pulling him to his feet.   
"No, let me go!" Stiles shouted, struggling in the man's hold as he was pulled to an awaiting horse.   
He looked back at the clearing, letting out another sob. Cloth was suddenly wrapped around his mouth, silencing him.   
The man jumped onto his horse, grabbing Stiles by the tunic and yanking him up as well. Stiles let out a cry, the fabric pinching at his neck and under arms, and he was draped over the werewolf's lap like his kill.   
He grunted, kicking his legs and shouting through the gag before the werewolf growled and hit him in the head with something hard. Stiles grunted, stilling as his head swam and the horse was kicked into a gallop.   
*-*  
Stiles came to when the horse came to a stop, stomping his hooves.   
"Look who I found," the wolf above him said. He grabbed Stiles by the shirt and promptly pushed him off the horse. Stiles landed with a grunt on his side, eyes pinching shut.   
He rolled to his back, arms pinned under him and blinked his eyes open to see Peter standing over him.   
"Where was he?" Peter asked, not taking his hard gaze off of Stiles.   
"Three hours north west of here," the other werewolf supplied, jumping off of the horse. Peter's eyes were hard, and Stiles swallowed thickly, chin dropping to cover his neck.   
Peter growled at that, finally reaching down and grabbing the shirt before pulling Stiles off the ground. He thrashed, letting out a few choice words through the fabric over his mouth as Peter yanked him close, a growl rumbling from his chest. He brought Stiles to his chest, dropping his head to inhale at Stiles' shoulder, his grip tightening around Stiles' upper arms.   
"Someone helped him," Peter growled, looking at the werewolf who brought Stiles back. Stiles felt his heart dropped to his shoes, yelping and grunting, struggling to push Peter away. "Find them and bring them to me."  
Stiles really went wild then. Peter lifted him off his feet, carrying him towards the tent. Stiles continued to kick and scream, tears in his eyes.   
The tent was just as Stiles had seen it last, the fire small but bright. Peter dropped him onto the bed, his chin pressing painfully into the animal fur. He choked out a sob as Peter leaned over him, grip tight on his bound wrists.   
"You're very clever, mo pheata, I'll give you that," Peter growled, already reaching for his pants. Stiles squirmed, sobbing on the bed as Peter yanked the fabric down his legs.   
"If you try to leave again-" he shoved himself into Stiles, forcing a high pitched whine from his mouth, body tensing. "I'll kill you myself."  
Peter shoved himself in again, as deep as he could go and leaned forward to bite threateningly at the back of Stiles' neck.   
"And it won't be quick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't posted chapters daily since I was in high school 😂 this is so crazy I really enjoy writing this book (more than I enjoy my other books!) And your guys' comments just make me want to post every chapter I write the moment I finish writing them!   
> Thank you all so much for the amazing support, it means so much to me! I screenshot all of your comments, especially the ones freaking out about Stiles and his current predicament! You are all so incredible it makes me cry!  
> Thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!😘😘😘


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles woke up to someone yanking his pants up, and he let out a whimper, the gag soaked in his own spit. Peter had been violent with him, and he struggled to fight the hands covering him.   
The hands moved to untie the rope around his wrists, which had cut into his skin, leaving it bruised and bleeding.   
Stiles let out a soft noise when his wrists were released and he brought his arms to his sides before the gag in his mouth was pulled out.   
Stiles opened his mouth enough for Peter to pull it out before turning his head away from him, his body slowly curling up. He hurt, and the tears in his eyes hadn't stopped since he'd been forced back. He just wanted to go home. He wanted this to all be some twisted dream -a nightmare. He wanted it to be the Nogitsune trying to slither back into control, but no matter what he wanted to believe, Stiles knew this wasn't the case. He was stuck here for God knows how fucking long, and it finally sunk in as he was lying on the bed, a soft sob falling from his lips.   
Peter left the tent without a word, but Stiles didn't have it in him to move. He curled further into himself, bringing his hands to his hair and gritting it tightly. His wrists pressed into his face, and he continued to cry himself to sleep.   
It didn't feel long before a hand was on his arm and he was being pulled to his feet. Stiles whimpered, his ass on fire and his legs feeling like jelly.   
Peter lead him out of the tent with a hand on the back of his neck. Stiles knew his eyes were probably red from crying, his head foggy. He stumbled forward, sniffling.   
And then he was stopping, his breath hitching and his eyes widening at the sight in front of him. The three men from the night before were kneeling in front of him, hands tied behind them and fabric in their mouths. The Hale pack males were standing behind the three in case they tried to run, but they didnt look like they would.   
"Were these the men that gave you those clothes?" Peter asked, voice low with an underlying threat. Stiles looked from Peter to the three men.   
The first had his head lowered, almost to the ground. The second had a threatening look of his own, and Stiles' heartbeat quickened. And then he looked over to the one his own age and he nearly started to cry again. The boy was frightened.   
"No," Stiles managed, shaking his head. Peter growled, the grip on his neck tightening and making Stiles wince.   
"Don't lie to me, Stiles," he snapped. Stiles flinched, tears filling his eyes as he looked at the three again.   
"I don't know them," he said. "They didn't do anything."  
Stiles eyes widened when Peter nodded to one of his pack, and Stiles sucked in a sharp breath when a musket was lifted, pressing into the first werewolf's head. Before Stiles could do anything, the trigger was pulled.   
"No!" Stiles sobbed, reaching for him. Peter yanked him back, the other two wolves shouting their distress.   
"Watch," Peter snapped, grabbing Stiles by the chin and forcing him to face the remaining two. "Your actions and lies have consequences, mo pheata."  
Stiles let out a wrecked sob when the other two wolves were gunned down where they knelt. The youngest had been left for last, his eyes wide and pleading as he sobbed, looking at Stiles for help.   
When the trigger was pulled, and his body dropped, so did Stiles. He barely managed to catch himself, body shaking.   
"They- they didn't-" Stiles sobbed. Peter grabbed him and lifted him into his arms, easily taking the weight Stiles refused to take himself. "You killed them!" Peter dragged Stiles back towards the tent.   
"They helped you knowing full well you belonged to me," he growled, arm tightening painfully around Stiles.   
Once inside, Peter dropped Stiles onto the bed, but walked to the door. He turned, glaring at Stiles before he left the tent.   
"Think about who's blood is on your hands the next time you decide to leave."   
Stiles buried his face into the fur, choking on a sob. His hands shook with a need to control himself, but images of those three men kept flashing across his mind; how that young one had looked at him, as if wanting Stiles to help. How their heads shot forward, the wounds on the back so large and destructive.   
Stiles thought he was going to be sick, and he fumbled for the phone in his pocket, knowing Peter wouldn't be back for a while.   
He opened it, opened his texting app and clicked on Scott's name. 

-I'm stuck in the past, and idk how to get back. 

Stiles felt his heart constrict painfully at the red exclamation point, the words NO SERVICE flashing above the text. He shut his phone off and buried his face in his arms, sucking in a breath that forced a choked sob from his mouth.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles woke up with the biggest emotional hangover he's ever had. His head was heavy, eyes burning. He sat up, wincing at the soreness in his body and looked around. Peter wasn't around.   
He looked down at his legs, frowning when he saw an iron cuff around his ankle. He reached for it, grabbing at the chain at the side. He followed it with his eyes to a rod in the middle of the tent, right next to the little fire place.   
Stiles gave it an experimental tug, the chain making too much noise in the small space.   
He got to his feet, walking to the rod and wincing with every step, the chain following noisily behind him.   
The rod was sticking only two feet out of the ground, and the chain looked like it wasn't going anywhere, even after he tugged at it.   
When had that happened?   
Stiles stood up from his crouched position, walking to the end of the chain. He could reach the bed, obviously, as well as the chest that held Peter's clothes, but it came up short when Stiles tried for the door, and the small pile of weapons. He cursed, dropping to his ass with a grunt before grabbing the chain with both hands and pulling as hard as he could.   
"Its not going to move, mo pheata," Peter hummed, walking into the tent. Stiles glared up at him, hands loosening around the chain.   
Peter held a bowl in his hands as he made his way to the bed, sitting on it and looking across the tent at where Stiles was still sitting on the ground. The smell hit him, and Stiles blinked, eyeing the bowl.   
"Are you hungry?" Peter asked, bowl still in his hands. Stiles hadn't had more than the quarter loaf of bread since he'd gotten here, and even before then, he hadn't had dinner before his now regrettable trip to the nemeton.   
His stomach panged with hunger, but Stiles stayed frozen on the ground, his right leg curled towards him, left jutted out. His hands still held the chain, though he made no attempt to pull it.   
"You'll have to come over here, if you want it."  
Stiles eyed Peter, still staying put. Peter raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips when Stiles moved.   
It was slow, and Stiles kept his eyes glued to Peter the whole time he got to his feet. It took another breath before Stiles was walking to the bed. He moved to sit at the edge.   
"Over here, mo pheata," Peter said. Stiles took another breath before he moved closer. He was only doing this because he was hungry.   
When he sat, there was only a foot of space between them. Peter looked almost victorious and handed the bowl over.   
Stiles took it a little too eagerly, not even looking to see what it could be before bringing the rim to his lips and tilting the bowl up.   
It was stew, bits of potato, meat and carrot being swallowed whole before Stiles pulled the bowl away, coughing.   
Once he recovered, he brought the bowl back to his lips, chewing the chunks before swallowing. Peter stayed beside him, watching him eat the whole bowl.   
"Good," Peter said, standing to his feet. Stiles stilled, eyes automatically flying up from the bowl to look at Peter; to watch him.   
He reached down and grabbed the bowl from him, leaving the tent. Stiles didn't relax until the flap was shut, leaving Stiles in near darkness. The fire had turned into glowing embers, the light dimming.   
Stiles stood up and walked to the fire, crouching down in front of it and grabbing some of the sticks left behind. They weren't big enough to be used as weapons, and too brittle to pick at the iron cuff around his ankle. Stiles resigned himself to try and get the fire going again.   
*-*  
Peter doesn't return until a few hours later, another bowl of food in hand. He sits on the bed, and Stiles finds himself moving without Peter saying a word.   
He sat, eyed the bowl to see more stew, but instead of giving it over, Peter set it on his lap.   
"Take off your tunic," Peter demanded. Stiles stilled, looking up at him with baited breath. Peter nodded once, urging him, and Stiles was so hungry, he found himself doing just that.   
With the tunic on the bed beside him, Peter handed him the bowl. Stiles grabbed it, bringing it to his lips. Knowing now it was stew, he ate it slowly so he could chew the chunks of meat and vegetables.   
Stiles froze halfway through chewing when he felt Peter's hand brush along his shoulder blade, heart rate picking up.   
His fingers traced an odd route across his skin from shoulder blade to his last rib, and he realized what Peter was doing.   
Tracing the lines of the lichtenberg figure. Stiles set the bowl down, still half full; his fingers wrapping around it tightly as it sat in his lap.   
"What are you doing?" Stiles managed to choke out. Peter had leaned back to get a better view, and Stiles didn't want to turn around to see him.   
The fingers continued to trace the scar up to his shoulder, onto his neck.   
"What's this," Peter asked, finger tracing the much tougher scar of the 己 behind his ear. The skin there was raised, burnt and rough.   
"Birthmark," Stiles lied. It had been a month since the Oni had singed it into his skin, and he still felt the burn, could still smell the burnt flesh.   
"I've seen this birthmark before," Peter hummed. Stiles turned his head then, forcing Peter's fingers to fall. He set the bowl down beside him and stood up. He did not want to have this conversation. Especially not with Peter.   
"How many people did it kill?" Peter asked. A strangled noise came from Stiles' throat as he walked from the bed.   
Images flashed in his mind, Allison dead in Scott's arms, the twins, Derek and Issac and Lydia. Hurting Scott.   
"A lot," Stiles managed to croak out. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down before he spiraled. "I'm not hungry, anymore."   
Peter glanced at the half eaten bowl on the bed, then up at Stiles, who had walked to the end of his chain, dropping to the ground and tucking his knees up to his chest. He buried his face in the fold of his arms, eyes squeezing shut.   
Stiles heard Peter get up and walk over. He tensed when Peter knelt down in front of him, and forced Stiles to lift his head by grabbing his wrists and pulling.   
"The Nogitsune wont get you here," Peter said roughly. Stiles didn't believe him. The Nogitsune followed him here. It was only a matter of time before the lichtenberg figure disappeared. He hoped when the Nogitsune did return, Peter would kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I forgot to mention mo pheata is Irish for my pet! I wanted to use the Irish werewolf lore instead of the usual lore, just to make things a little different, so the Hales are Irish descendants!
> 
> Also thank you guys so much! You guys really hate Peter 😂 don't worry, I'll give him a good redemption arc here pretty soon!! 
> 
> I've gotten a couple comments about Stockholm Syndrome, and I'm honestly not sure! I guess it plays a part in their relationship, but I think once Stiles see's what Peter is really like underneath, that doesn't become a factor! But if you guys would like I can tag it! Its not gonna be a big part in the story but let me know!


	9. Chapter 9

'Let me in, Stiles.'  
Stiles jerked awake with a grunt, eyes flying open as he sat up, panic sucker punching him in the stomach.   
He stumbled out of bed in the dark, grabbing at his tunic and flinging it over his head. His hands shook as he reached behind his shoulder, searching blindly for the scars.   
"Stiles, what are you doing," peter's growling voice spoke through the dark. Stiles forgot the werewolf had stayed in the tent with him. Stiles stilled, breath coming out in short pants as he turned to where Peter had sat up.   
"I can't- I can't feel them," he whined. The lichtenberg figure was gone, the Nogitsune was coming back.   
Peter stood up, walking to Stiles and grabbing his wrists. "Can't feel what?"  
Stiles was too worked up. He pulled at his wrists, trying to reach for his back again.   
"The lichtenberg figure," he said. "Its gone."  
Peter frowned, looking at Stiles' bare chest. "Its still there," he said, finger poking at the skin. Stiles dropped his head, faintly making out the branching of scar across the side of his chest.   
"Is it going away?" He asked, still pulling at his wrists. It had to be, he heard the Nogitsune.   
Peter turned him around, eyes red as he looked over Stiles' back.   
"It looks the same," Peter said. Stiles sags forward, bringing his hands to his face and scrubbing. Peter spun him around to face him again, and held Stiles' upper arms.   
"Why would they disappear?"  
Stiles took a step back, trying to pull his arms from Peter's grip, but the wolf held his ground, grip tight.   
"You are my mate," Peter growled low, pulling Stiles closer. "Tell me."  
Stiles stumbled forward, the chain noisily following his right leg as he stepped forward to keep from falling into Peter.   
"You have to kill me when it goes away," Stiles said, looking up at Peter with a glare of his own. He didn't bother arguing the mate thing, too busy focusing on the Nogitune thing.   
At least he wasn't back with his pack. He couldn't put them through that again. Here, in whatever time he was in, would be safer when the Nogitsune came back.   
"When it goes away the Nogitsune comes back," Stiles says, finally pulling his arms free and stalking to the end of his line.   
"The Nogitsune isn't here," Peter huffed, irritation clear in his voice. Stiles shook his head, spinning around to face Peter in the dark. He could barely make him out, but he knew Peter could see him just fine.   
"Yes it is," Stiles snapped. "It never left. It followed me here."  
Peter growled, running a hand through his hair before stepping up to Stiles. Stiles grunted, shoving him in the chest before he got too close.   
Peter easily grabbed his arms, yanking Stiles into his chest before lifting him up off the ground.   
"Let me go!" Stiles shouted. Peter did, dropping him onto the bed. He didn't have time to move before Peter was on top of him, pinning his wrists into the fur by his head, sitting on his hips and growling low.   
"Stop," Peter demanded. Stiles did, breathing labored as he glared challenging up at him. Peter snarled at that, eyes flashing red, but Stiles didn't back down.   
"Don't challenge me," Peter growled, tightening his hold on Stiles' wrists. He winced, fisting his hands.   
"You have to kill it when it comes back," Stiles said, glaring at Peter, silently begging. The red in Peter's eyes faded, the grip on Stiles' wrist still tight.   
"I won't let it hurt you," Peter sighed.   
"You'll kill it?"  
Peter nodded, and Stiles finally broke the stare off. He turned his head, exposing his neck. Stiles didn't know why he did it -maybe as a thank you. Or maybe it was because he was just so tired. But the fight drained out of him in that moment.  
Peter lowered his head, his nose pressing into Stiles' neck, the grip on his wrists loosened. Peter inhaled, a low rumble in his chest, and Stiles closes his eyes.   
He had to face the music. There was no way Stiles could get back to his pack, not with the Nogitsune in the darkest recesses of his mind. He would have to learn to make this time his home; which meant he had to learn to be apart of this pack.   
He felt his throat closing up with emotion, feeling the flat of Peter's tongue press to his neck. Stiles blinked away the tears threatening to spill over, and felt the phone and wallet in his pockets too heavy. They were worthless now. He had no need for them, nor would he ever.   
And then Peter is tucking Stiles into him, back to chest, and Stiles was dispondantly pliant to him. Peter's arms were wrapped around Stiles, his nose brushing against the back of Stiles' neck.   
If Peter noticed him crying, he didnt say anything, and Stiles was grateful.   
He kept his crying silent, the only signs he was crying being the soft sniffles and the sharp inhales. He would never see his dad again. His dad wouldn't have anyone to tell him to eat healthy, and the sudden realization that he was leaving Noah alone made him choke quietly on a sob.  
He wouldn't get to see Scott or Lydia anymore. There would be no more brooding Derek, no more over excited Kira or Malia. He would never see his pack again. Never see his dad, or get to drive his jeep, or finish high school.   
He cried himself to sleep, tucked up against Peter. Peter, who forced a claim on him, forced himself deep in him. A murderer who in his life time claims the land that Derek Hale inherits nearly 300 years into the future.   
He doesn't hear the Nogitsune in his head after that, and sleeps the deepest he's had since being dumped here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention for the most part I'm just as surprised as you guys are when writing! I don't stick to a strict plot, I have a basis, sure but what happens between is all up to the characters!   
> I know for sure that at some point Stiles and Peter actually fall in love, and I know the ending (I'm not gonna say what it is 😂) but what happens between point a and point b is all up in the air! If the characters wanna go one way I let them!   
> But I love all of your questions and comments about the characters because I don't think about why they do what they do until someone says so and I'm like "yeah totally meant to do that. I wrote it that way on purpose" and I'm telling on myself now because I really didn't 😂😂  
> Also I'm becoming impatient I'm pretty sure I've posted a chapter at least twice today 🤔🤔


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles woke up to the smell of food. He blinked his eyes open, sitting up. Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed. Stiles rubbed his eyes, sighing.   
Peter silently handed over the bowl, and Stiles grabbed it, folding his legs under him. There was a couple slices of bread, slices of meat that roughly resembled bacon, and potatoes.   
Stiles reached into the bowl, grabbing the meat and biting into it. It definitely was bacon, but the slices were shaped more like sandwich meat with the thickness of ham.   
"Thank you," Stiles said after swallowing. He doesn't know what he's thanking him for; the food or for the promise of a quick death when the Nogitsune came back. He kept his eyes on the food and Peter got up, stepping close to him.   
Stiles didn't fight when Peter pressed a finger into his chin. He looked up at Peter, and didn't pull away when Peter dropped his head, their mouths pressing together. Stiles didn't kiss him back, but the urge to yank away difiantly had been snuffed out.   
"I'm going to be gone for a couple days," Peter said, keeping his finger at Stiles' chin. "Someone will make sure you eat."  
Stiles only manages a nod before Peter is stepping away. Stiles returns to his food as Peter dresses. He's putting the belt and fur back on, and Stiles wonders briefly what he'd need with the dagger strapped to the outside of his calf, or the sword attached to his belt.   
He continues to eat, ripping a piece of the bread off and popping it into his mouth. Peter walked back over, dipping his head. Stiles bit off another bite, tilting his head when he felt Peter's nose brush against his neck. Peter growled in appreciation, inhaling before rubbing the prickly hairs of his cheek on his neck.   
And then he was gone. Stiles continued to eat, and when he was finished, he rolled onto his side, curling in on himself.  
*-*  
Stiles woke up to someone walking in with food. He sat up, the werewolf was part of the party he had first run into, though he was glad it wasn't the one who had initially tried to kill him.   
"Here," he said, dropping the plate onto the bed. Stiles raised an eyebrow as he walked out, but didn't say anything. He picked up the plate and ate the food. There was a reoccurring theme with the food served; meat, potatoes, vegetables, bread. He wasn't complaining, but the craving for pizza was becoming an issue.   
Stiles let out a sigh, remembering eating cold pizza in his bedroom with Scott during one of their many all nighters playing Call of Duty. He at the food quickly before pushing the plate away and dropping back into the fur. Maybe he could just wallow himself into the future.   
Not long later, the man came back, and Stiles stood.   
"I have to go to the bathroom," he said. The wolf rolled his eyes.   
"Then go," he grunted, picking up the plate.   
"Not in here," Stiles said, eyeing the tent. Peter usually took him to the woods to go. Aparently the pack hadn't been here long enough to dig themselves a latrine.   
"I'm not that stupid," the man said, glaring at Stiles. "You just want me to get you out of those chains so you can take off again."  
"You're a werewolf," Stiles glares back. "I'm pretty sure you can over power me if I try to run."  
In the end, the werewolf got him out of the cuff and lead Stiles into the woods to relieve himself. Granded he kept a hand on his shoulder the whole time, even while Stiles pissed on a tree.   
"You're one of those helicopter parents, aren't you?" Stiles grunted, tucking himself into his pants before eyeing the werewolf. It went right over his head. "You hover."  
The wolf growled low, yanking Stiles back towards the campsite.   
"Why aren't you with the alpha?" Stiles continued. From what he could tell, any time the alpha left the camp, the rest of the males followed. "Are you too young?"  
"I'm old enough," the wolf growled. Stiles raised an eyebrow, nearly falling on his face when he rolled his ankle on a rock.   
"So it's a competence thing," he said, mostly to himself. He was probably left behind because he couldn't hold his own in a fight, or he was injured. Either way, he had to stay behind to keep an eye on the women and children. And Stiles.   
Stiles let out a yelp when the wolf growled and shoved him into a tree just at the field edge. Stiles grunted, letting out a breath before looking up at the wolf.   
"You got a death wish or something?" The wolf snapped, sharp teeth bared and eyes glowing blue. Stiles glared right back, sneering up at him.   
"Maybe, you gonna grant it?"  
The wolf pulled him from the tree before slamming him back into it.   
"Colin, that's enough!"  
Stiles let out a cough, lifting his head to see a woman looking sternly at the werewolf. She was wearing a dark brown dress that ended at her ankles. It was a long sleeve with a wide neckline and a piece of rope wrapped around the waist. A small dagger was clasped to her side and her arms were folded over her chest.   
"You really want to hurt the alpha's claim?" She demanded, sounding like a disappointed mother. "You kill him, and the alpha will make sure you die slow."   
Stiles frowned. He kind of wished the woman hadn't interrupted. The wolf -Colin- growled before pulling Stiles from the tree and stalking towards the woman.   
"I wasn't going to kill him," he grunted, passing her with his grip on Stiles' tunic. "Just gonna teach him a thing or two about submission."   
"I don't submit," Stiles grunted. "Especially not to some beta."   
Colin turned to deliver a blue that could've knocked Stiles straight into the future, but the warning growl from the woman stopped him short.   
Instead, Colin snapped his teeth at Stiles, flashing his eyes in a show of domination before yanking Stiles back to the tent. He roughly chained Stiles leg back up before storming out of the tent. Stiles dropped into the bed of furs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm definitely writing more than I should be. I think I just wrote straight through breakfast and lunch, but on a positive note I'm up to 16 chapters! Negative note tho, I'm avoiding my other books 😂 wolf Moon is finished so I'm not worried about posting times for it, but Renegade and Ready to Comply aren't finished. If Druid wasn't finished already I'd be having a minor conundrum but all is relatively well and maybe I'll take a break and write for my other books but who knows, the day is still young.  
> Enjoy!!


	11. Chapter 11

Colin didn't make as many frequent stops after that. He stopped by once a day to take Stiles to the bathroom, and gave him the bare minimum of food.   
He knew he got under Colin's skin, knew he was mad that Stiles poked at his pride and didn't submit to him. But Stiles was mad. He was mad that he was stuck here, mad that he couldnt get to the nemeton. That Peter had killed those men for helping him, for Peter forcing himself on Stiles. He was mad at himself for going to the nemeton in the first place and not telling anyone.   
His family didn't know where to start looking for him once they figured out he was gone. They were probably calling him, texting him, searching his room for clues, using his clothes to scent him out in town. Scott was probably chasing down all of the people he could think Stiles would go to. Derek was probably working with Argent to figure out if hunters were involved.   
He was sure Lydia and Malia were working thr banshee angle with no luck, and Kira probably sat at Scott's side trying desperately to help but having no idea where to start.   
His dad was probably taking every available officer into the woods to search, using up every resource he had to find him. Stiles wondered if after his shifts he was out hanging fliers, or if he was in the living room drinking.   
Stiles didn't like thinking those thoughts, but with nothing to do and no one to exactly distract him, that's what he thought about well into the night.   
Peter had been gone for four days now, and Stiles hadn't had more than a handful of food a day. He wanted Peter back if only to get him a decent meal.   
Stiles grunted, the bruises on his ankle made it impossible for him to sit comfortably. He barely wanted to walk, and sitting kept pressure on the sore skin too.   
He would never tell Colin, but he was beginning to look forward to his visits when he could get the iron cuff off and relieve himself.   
And that time came. Colin stormed in, wordlessly uncuffed him and yanked him into the woods. He wasn't holding onto Stiles anymore, and he finished his business before making his way slowly towards where he stood waiting with a scowl. Like how Derek did when he took too long explaining something.   
"Hurry up," Colin snapped, eyes flashing. He tried everything aside from physical abuse to get Stiles to submit to him, but Stiles had lived with Erica and Cora, and the little beta dragging him to the tent didn't frighten him. At least not enough to get him to submit. If anything happened to him, Stiles knew Peter would be mad. It was the only reason Colin hadn't touched him.   
Stiles was shoved into the tent, but instead of following him in, he left. Stiles glared behind him before looking into the tent. The fire had been rebuilt, and sitting on the bed was Peter.   
Stiles blinked, body tensing as he stood there. Peter's clothes and weapons were discarded by the chest, leaving him in a pair of dirt and blood soaked pants.   
His chest and arms weren't much cleaner, and Stiles wondered if any of the blood was his.   
"Come here, mo pheata," Peter gestured. Stiles walked over, hesitating as he stood a couple feet in front of him.   
"Who's blood is that?" He asked, voice tight. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he felt his chest tighten in a need to back up.   
"It doesn't matter," Peter said, reaching a hand out. Stiles took a step back, but Peter had his wrist and pulled Stiles into his lap. Stiles didn't fight as Peter pulled him close by his hips.   
"It does," Stiles sighed. "What did you do."  
"You don't need to worry about what I do for my pack," Peter growled, his hands on Stiles's hips tightening. Stiles winced and turned his head. It wasn't submission, he told himself as Peter ran his nose up the side of his throat.   
"Take this off," Peter growled, tugging at his tunic. Stiles felt his blood run cold, body tensing further as he stilled on Peter's lap. "You do it, or I will."  
Stiles knew he would, so he reached for the end of his tunic and lifted it over his head. He dropped it to Peter's feet. Peter pushed at his hips, forcing Stiles to stand before grabbing his pants and pulling them down.   
Stiles let out a whimper, hands fisting at their sides as he felt the fabric pool at his ankles.   
Peter grabbed his hip and pulled him back onto his lap. Stiles felt tears brimming his eyes.   
"Please, I dont want to-" Stiles managed. Peter lifted Stiles up, pulling himself free from his pants. Stiles grabbed his shoulders, pinching his eyes shut. He felt Peter line himself up before letting Stiles go. He let out a cry when he sank onto Peter's cock, the tears falling.   
Peter hooked his arms under Stiles' knees, pulling him up before dropping him back down again. Stiles whined, clenching his jaw.   
He didn't have time to adjust to the size or dryness before Peter was fucking into him.   
He let out strangled cries and whines as Peter fucked him, lifting him up before dropping him onto Peter's dick.   
Stiles' hand found the nape of Peter's neck, grabbing it while the other clung to his shoulder. Peter growled low, dropping Stiles onto him again and again. Stiles let out a loud sob when Peter thrusted his hips up to meet Stiles as he fell, his grip on Peter tightening.   
"You're so good," Peter growled, forcing another shout from Stiles as he thrusted into him. Stiles struggled to find a distraction, anything to take his mind off of what was happening, but any time he got close, another painful thrust brought him back and he let out pitiful noises.  
When Peter came, Stiles didn't fight. The two were breathing hard, Stiles letting out small whimpers as Peter buried himself deep.   
He lifted Stiles up, pulling himself out of Stiles before setting Stiles on the bed. Stiles let him pull his pants back on, and crawl into the bed behind him. He let Peter pull him to his chest and wrap his arms around his middle.  
He had to. This was his home now. There was no going back to the future. The Delorean wasn't going to show up to take him back, no men with magical markers ready to press a button and zip them home.   
This was his life now. He was Peter's claim, and he had to get used to it sooner or later. He had to say goodbye to his life in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm getting a lot of questions about the Nogitsune and future Peter so I figured I'd answer the mass comments in one go 😂  
> The Nogitsune is gone, the pack made sure of that, but because the Nogitsune was in Stiles' head, he has a hard time believing it's gone! Any memory or nightmare turns into a threat because Stiles can hear him, which means he must still be there! But no worries, the Nogitsune doesn't make an appearance, it's mostly just Stiles' trauma.   
> As for the whole Peter thing! Derek's uncle in the future is not Peter, but a nameless clip art version of him! Everything Peter does in the first season happens, but when Derek kills him, he doesn't come back to life. Peter in the past is just a very old relative of Derek. So Stiles doesn't see Peter and automatically think of Derek's uncle, because they don't look the same and arent the same people! Uncle in the future is if you put Peter into google translate and translated it into three other languages before slapping him into a story 😂  
> Anywho, hope you guys like the chapter!! Dont stop commenting with questions and theories I love it!!!


	12. Chapter 12

When Stiles woke up, it was to loud voices. He rolled onto his back and sat up, rubbing at his eyes.   
There was a bowl of food by his ankle, and Peter was nowhere. Stiles reached out and lifted the bowl up. Another stew, though this time it was a different meat, and it was thicker. Stiles ate it, and when he was finished, he climbed out of bed. He picked up his tunic from the ground, shaking out the dirt before putting it on.   
With Peter gone, Stiles reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out and pressing the button in the middle. The screen stayed black and Stiles felt a rush of pain in his chest. The battery was dead.   
He shoved it back into his pocket before heading for the flap, pushing it aside and stilling when he stepped out.   
The loud voices were instructions. Tents were being taken down, wagons being stuffed with furs and chests.   
"What-"  
"We're leaving," came Peter's voice beside him. Stiles jumped, turning to look at him. He was tending to the horse. It was tall and lean, dark brown except for the patch of white running from the tip of one ear to the nose.   
"We are?" Stiles asked, making his way completely from the tent. Peter finished saddling the horse before walking to Stiles.   
Stiles let Peter grab his arm, press him against the alpha's chest. He didn't push him away when Peter brought his nose to Stiles' neck.   
"This was a temporary settlement," Peter said.  
Stiles knew that. Based on the tents and lack of permanent structured houses. But he didn't think they'd be packing up and leaving.   
"I have to go to the bathroom," Stiles said after a moment. Peter let him go, and Stiles took a step back.   
"Go ahead," Peter said nodding for the trees. Stiles blinked, not moving.   
"Without you?" He asked. Peter raised an eyebrow and nodded for the trees again.   
"You're smart enough not to run off," he said, and Stiles heard the threat in his tone as he turned back to the horse. "We're leaving in ten minutes, so make it quick."  
Stiles blinked again before spinning on his heels and walking to the woods. He quickly relieved himself and was about to head back when he paused, glancing further into the woods. A tightness in his throat had Stiles scratching at his cheek before he reached into his pockets and pulled his phone wallet and keys out.   
There was a small knot in a tree to his right, and Stiles walked over to its, stuffing his phone inside. He opened his wallet, flicking through all the cards he had stuffed inside. Most of them were key cards he shouldnt have, a couple membership cards, his library card and his state issued ID.   
He dug his fingers into the slit behind the cards, grasping the flimsy papers before yanking them free. They were wallet sized pictures warn from years of use. The first, was a picture of him when he was about nine. His mom was on one side, his dad on the other. Stiles was in the middle with his arms looped around their necks and they were all smiling widely.   
Stiles looked at the second one. He felt his heart lurch. Stiles was holding the camera, raised high in the air. Behind him, Scott and Allison were laughing. Scott had his arm draped over her shoulders, his two fingers up and tongue sticking out. Allison was mid laugh, looking at him.   
Lydia was in the picture too, on the other side of Stiles' head. She wasn't looking at the camera, but she was grinning widely at the pile of bodies just out of shot. Boyd had tackled Issac to the floor.   
Stiles ran his thumb over the photo before shoving them both into his pocket and setting his wallet with his phone.   
He took the key to his jeep off the key ring before discarding them as well.   
He turned and walked out of the woods, holding back the wave of tears threatening to spill. He finds Peter where he left him, the wolf dressed in the furs and belt he'd first met him in. He looked like something straight out of Vikings, without all the long hair and braids.   
Peter looks pleased when Stiles stops beside him, and Stiles let's him nuzzle into his neck.   
Stiles gets help climbing onto the horse, and Peter sidles in behind him, arms around Stiles to grab the reins.   
Stiles assumed the people taking down the tent site would get Peter's as well. Peter kicks the horse forward, heading for a group of four on horseback.   
"What about everyone else?" Stiles finds himself asking as the group of now five head off, leaving half the males and all the women and children behind.   
"They'll meet us there," Peter supplies. Stiles stays silent as they move through the forest. They turn onto a well worn path, and Stiles listens to the conversations the other four wolves are having, but he doesnt really pay attention to what they're saying.  
Stiles' pockets are lighter, and he knows it was the right thing to do -leave his old life behind- but the regret that pulled at his heart was palpable.  
He had relaxed on the horse. Wasn't as afraid of it moving between his legs in that slow gait that had Stiles' torso bending one way, then the other. Stiles wondered if he'd be this comfortable on a horse by himself, but pushed the idea away. The instant the horse moved faster than a walk, he tensed up and lost all ability to move with the horse. So he resigned himself to being Peter's saddle buddy for the forseeably depressing future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about to get very interesting pretty soon!! Sorry this chapter is short, I'm gonna try writing them a little longer!


	13. Chapter 13

They came out of nowhere. Stiles didn't think the wolves had heard them, because when they dropped from the trees, they all looked startled.   
Peter growled, grip on the reigns tightening to still his horse. There were eight of them. Stiles' breath hitched, seeing the men with swords and muskets drawn.   
It happened faster than Stiles could keep up, and soon the other wolves had their own swords out. Peter was one of them, wrapping an arm around Stiles' middle to keep him on the horse as he swung at the ambushers.  
Stiles watched one man swing in a low arc, sword burying into the flesh of one of the attacker's chest. Stiles saw it catch on his ribcage and felt himself get sick.   
A shot rang out, and the horse Stiles sat on bucked up onto its hind legs. Stiles let out a yelp as he and Peter fell off, Peter taking the brunt of the fall.   
Peter easily pushed Stiles off, jumping to his feet and storming towards the closest attacker. Stiles stumbled to his feet, nearly being trampled by the horse.   
He grabbed for the reins, trying to stop the horse, but he ended up being dragged a couple feet before he dug his heels in.   
Stiles saw the glint to his right and spun around, just missing the sharp end of a sword. The horse was forgotten, and Stiles stumbled back, ducking the swinging blade.   
The man swung again, this time at the side and lower, and Stiles had no time to jump back before the blade was slicing into the meat of his thigh.   
Stiles sucked in a sharp inhale, looking down at his leg. He looked up at the man with wide eyes, but before he could swing a second time, Peter let out a howl, jumping in front of him and running thr man through.   
Stiles could hear his breathing in his ears. It didn't hurt, just kind of ached, and he swayed a little.   
He looked down again. The sword had cut six inches across his thigh, and it was deep. He saw skin hanging off the wound, and blood was steadily flowing. Stiles felt his stomach roll.   
He dropped to his knees and threw up, stomach twisting and hands shaking.   
He was in shock, or the adrenaline hadn't worn out yet. Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder, heard the muffled voice by his ear, the far off sounds of fighting. He wretched again, the world around him getting clearer as the throbbing in his leg got stronger.   
He let out a sob, pinching his eyes closed, and then he was being lifted to his feet. Stiles really let out a cry then, when he put pressure on his insured leg.   
"Hold on," Peter grunted, lowering Stiles back onto the ground. Stiles couldnt help the string of sobs and heavy panting, his hands shaking.   
"Stiles, focus," Peter demanded, ripping at his pant leg. Stiles bit down hard, his teeth aching. "You have to calm down."  
Stiles wasn't really listening. The words weren't triggering any action on Stiles' part.   
Peter ripped the hem of his tunic, and slid it under Stiles' thigh. The bleeding was steady, no spurting. He hadn't cut a major artery, which meant there was a chance if Stiles got to a hospital he'd be okay, but there was no hospital, and no way for Stiles to survive. Medicine wasn't a thing in this time.   
And then Peter moved the flap of skin and Stiles let out a scream so loud it hurt his own ears, body tensing. Once his skin was back in place, Peter tied the fabric around it tightly, and Stiles saw white spots flashing across his vision.   
Peter grabbed Stiles by the arms, yanking him to his feet again before nearly lifting Stiles into the air and rushing for the horse.   
Stiles was lifted into the saddle, and Peter quickly followed suit. Stiles sagged against him, sobbing and crying out in pain as Peter kicked the horse into a run. The jostling made the pain worse and Stiles knew he would pass out.   
"It hurts, it hurts!" Stiles sobbed, nearly delirious with pain. The closest he ever got to this kind of pain was when he fell out of a tree in middle school and cut his calf on a piece of wood. He'd needed five stitches, but that was nothing compared to the half foot gash on his thigh.   
And then Peter's hand was on his bare wrist, and the pain was ebbing away. It wasn't enough, but it kept him from passing out as Peter rode hard back in the direction of the pack.   
Stiles must've passed out, because he was being shook awake again.   
"Stay awake, Stiles," Peter demanded. Stiles' face screwed up in pain and he let out another sob. He looked down at his leg, saw he had bleed through the fabric. His entire pantleg was soaked, and he saw the flow of blood on his skin.   
"I'm gonna die," Stiles choked, head falling back onto Peter's shoulder. He was hyperventilating again. "I'm bleeding too much."  
"You're not going to die, Stiles," Peter grunted, sounding worried. Or Stiles was delirious.   
He pulled the horse to a stop in front of the nearly empty field.   
"Colin, find the emissary," Peter demanded. Stiles watched Colin's eyes widen before he took off into the crowd of pack mates loading up the wagons.   
Peter jumped off the horse, and without his support, Stiles found himself fall. Peter quickly grabbed him, helping to ease him off the horse and collecting him in his arms.   
"Stay awake."  
Stiles nodded, though he didn't know if he could. Peter set him in the wagon closest to them, on a pile of furs. Stiles let out another sob, shaky hands searching for something to grab onto. One found Peter's hand, and the other curled around the edge of the wagon wall, gripping so tightly his knuckles turned white.   
"What happened?" Someone said, running over with a bag. Stiles didn't pay him any attention. He focused on the hand pulling his pain, and his breathing.   
Peter was sharp and short with his reply, and then the man was ripping the make shift bandage off.   
"Open your mouth," Peter demanded. Stiles' jaw was clenched, eyes closed tightly and head digging into the furs under him. When he didn't, Peter grabbed his chin and forced his mouth open. Stiles let out a cry when he did, and something was shoved between his teeth. It was leather.   
"We have to stitch it up here," the man was saying. Peter nodded and Stiles' whole body shook.   
The hand in his squeezed, pulling more of the pain. Stiles didn't find it comforting, and he really screamed when the emissary began stitching up the skin.   
"Hold him still!"  
He didnt realize he was thrashing. Peter used his other hand to press into his hip, stilling his injured leg, and Stiles tried as hard as he could to stay still.   
Stiles didn't realize at some point he had fainted, but when he woke up, the stitches were done, and the emissary was wrapping his leg in bandages.   
He let out a broken sound, body beginning to shake again.   
"Drink this," Peter said. Stiles looked up at him, saw the waterskin. Peter brought it to his lips and Stiles drank. He sputtered a bit at the sting, realizing it was alcohol. He got a few more gulps before he pulled his head away, coughing and gagging.   
"He'll have to ride in the wagon," the emissary said once he was finished dressing his leg.   
Stiles managed to get a good look at the man. He was pale with blonde hair and brown eyes. He was skinny, but not as skinny as Stiles was. He was built like a swimmer.   
"I need a horse," Peter said. The emissary nodded and headed off to find one. Stiles still hurt, but it definitely wasn't as bad as before, and he wondered if it was because of the emissary or Peter, who was still holding his hand and leaching his pain away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so when is a good time to post? I'm in edt, so this chapter is going up at 8:15 am where I'm at! I notice if I post in the evening it doesn't get read! So let me know when I should post the chapters!  
> Would the morning or around noon work for you guys??


	14. Chapter 14

The pack was moving. Stiles was in the wagon, and every dip or bump in the path shot pain up his leg. Peter had gotten his horse, but instead of catching up to the four other males, he had the horse walk leisurely beside the wagon, keeping an eye on Stiles.   
Whenever the pain got especially bad, Peter would lean over and take his wrist, siphoning what pain he could until Stiles wasn't panting.   
The journey took a lot longer than before, with the pack mostly on foot. Peter kept an eye on the trees around them with a frown, and Stiles found himself in and out of sleep.   
By the time they reached the other four males, the sun was setting. Peter disappeared, leaning Stiles in the wagon. He wasn't gone for long. He came back on foot, and easily helped Stiles out of the wagon.   
He wasn't taken far. Peter let him sit when his breathing got bad, letting him sit against a tree.   
"Drink."  
Stiles did. The alcohol was strong, much stronger than any he'd had in the future. It took the edge off the pain.   
Peter's tent was set up first, and the moment his things were moved in, Peter got Stiles to his feet and lead him inside.   
Stiles was laid down on the pile of furs, Peter going as far as to move his injured leg onto the bed when Stiles didn't.   
Peter moved and helped Stiles sit up.   
"Your clothes are ruined," Peter mused. Stiles looked down, noting the pants were unsalvageable, caked in blood and ripped from thigh to knee. The shirt was soaked as well.   
Peter helped him out of it before letting Stiles lay down again. He was exhausted.   
Peter managed to get his pants off with little pain, leaving Stiles naked on the fur. Peter tossed the clothes to the ground by the entrance, then moved to the chest and yanked it open.   
Stiles shivered, and Peter returned with a tartan, draping it over Stiles. It was brown, darker and lighter browns squared across the fabric. Dark lines stitched horizontally across the tartan, with green lines going vertically.   
Peter didn't build a little fire, and instead worked at removing his clothes until he was in just his pants before climbing in beside Stiles.   
*-*  
Stiles spent the whole day in bed listening to people settling in outside of the tent. He slept for the most part, only waking when Peter came in to check on him. He refused to eat, his stomach still rolling, but Peter forced him to drink water.   
Stiles woke up on the second day to chills. He shoved the tartan off his chest, breathing coming out in short pants. The hair at his neck was wet with sweat.   
When Peter came back a few hours later, his eyebrows furrowed. Stiles was still breathing heavy, and sweat made his skin clammy.   
Peter moved over to him, placing a hand on Stiles' forehead, his frown deepening.   
"You're feverish," he said, worry in his tone. Stiles let Peter pull the tartan from his leg, watched his face scrunch up like something smelled, and then reached for the bandage.   
"I've got an infection," Stiles said, a shiver in his voice. Peter only nodded, adjusting the bandage before setting the tartan back down.   
"Is, is there any discharge?" Stiles asked. He had spent countless hours stuck in hospital rooms with Melissa McCall, he had picked up quite a few things from the woman.   
"Yes," Peter said.   
"What color?"  
Peter peeked back under the bandages. "Yellow."  
Stiles took a breath, trying to collect his thoughts as he shivered. He really needed a hospital with modern medicine. He let out a pathetic sound and Peter Peter down beside him on the furs, hand going to his forehead again.   
"Sepsis is gonna set in," Stiles managed to get out, fingers clutching at the tartan resting against his belly. At Peter's confused look, Stiles managed a quick elaboration.   
"If the infection spreads I'm gonna die," he said. "I need medicine."  
Stiles fell asleep before Peter left. It was fitful and more exhausting than staying awake wouldve been, but then he was being shaken awake.   
Peter was back with the emissary. Both were looking at Stiles with worried expressions, though Peter's arms were crossed over his chest and the emissary was busy with what looked like leaves, twigs and some water. He was crushing it in a mortar. Stiles felt another wave of shivers running down his body.   
"What's that?" Stiles asked, not bothering to lift his head from the fur.   
"It'll help," was all the emissary said, and Stiles must really be delirious, because he just nodded, shivered and closed his eyes again.   
Stiles woke up to Peter pulling him into a seated position. He blinked his eyes open feeling the lip of a bowl pressed to his lips.   
"Drink."  
Stiles opened his mouth and Peter tilted the bowl. Stiles swallowed and choked, making a face and turning his head from the bowl.   
"All of it," Peter said, one hand at the back of his head to keep him from backing away. It tasted like dirt. When Stiles didn't immediately drink the rest, Peter grunted.   
"It'll help."  
Stiles looked up at him skeptically before pinching his eyes shut and drinking the rest. He gagged, his stomach rolling.   
"Here."  
Stiles looked up to see a chunk of bread and he quickly took it, trying to get the flavor out of his mouth and hoping to settle his stomach.   
"What was that?" Stiles choked out.   
"Plantain," Peter said, setting the bowl down. Stiles laid back down, his stomach still rolling.   
From the looks of it, it was day time. Stiles wondered if it was the same day, or if he slept through yesterday and last night without realizing.   
Peter sat at the side of the bed and pulled the tartan from his injured leg. Stiles wasn't sweating anymore, but he was still shivering. Peter was removing the fabric from his thigh.   
"You know, it'd be so much easier if you just let me succumb to my wounds," Stiles said, eyes closed. It would definitely be easier on Stiles. At least then he wouldn't have to worry.   
Peter just growled in response, and Stiles opened his eyes, looking down to see Peter was applying a green paste to his thigh.   
"What's that?"  
"Alder," he supplied. "It helps with infection and the pain."  
When Peter had finished, he wiped his fingers on his pants before setting the bowl on the floor and wrapping his leg again.   
"Why are you putting this much effort into me not dying?" Stiles asks, and yeah, maybe he still had a fever.   
Peter climbed into the bed to Stiles' side, facing Stiles. Stiles stayed on his back, and didnt bother looking at Peter.   
"Because you're my mate," Peter said. "I didn't chose you for you to die."  
Peter raised a hand, placing it on his forehead to check Stiles' temperature.   
"Well, why did you then?" Stiles asked, frowning as he finally turned his head to scowl at Peter. He wasn't going to lie, he had wondered why him. It was a constant question. Why him? Why did the Nogitsune chose him? Why did the nemeton send him back? Why did Peter chose him?  
Peter exhaled, dropping his hand to his neck, prodding lightly at the scars there.   
"I could tell you were resilient," he hummed. "The scars across your body prove that. I need a mate that's strong."  
Stiles looked away, his frown deepening. He didn't say anything to that, and once his stomach stopped threatening to roll on itself, Stiles fell back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get a little more caring Peter! What do you guys think? Does it work for him? Hes trying 😭😂


	15. Chapter 15

When Stiles woke up next, he felt a lot better. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.   
His skin wasn't clammy, and he wasn't shivering anymore, though he still felt bad all over. He looked down at his leg, seeing the red and swollen skin peeking out from under the fabric wrap and experimentally prodded it with a finger. It was still warm to the touch, and he sighed.   
Peter came into the tent not long after, looking a little surprised Stiles was sitting up. He set the bowl of green paste down and walked to him, placing a hand on his forehead.   
"You're fever broke," he confirmed. Stiles said nothing, watching Peter now with a clearer mind as he sat down by Stiles' leg and removed the bandage. The tartan was still secured across his lap.   
Stiles blanched at the wound when the last of the bandage was removed.   
The skin was swollen, the gash sewn together with thick dark twine. Whoever had stitched him up, didn't worry about the wound healing properly, the jagged flesh where skin met skin meant the gash was likely to heal into a deformed scar.   
There was also left over alder paste on the wound. Most of it had been soaked up into the bandage.   
Peter grabbed the bowl and dipped his fingers in, before lightly smearing the paste onto the long cut. Stiles grimaced, leg twitching with small bouts of pain.   
When Peter finished, he moved for the bandage again.   
"You can't wrap that again," Stiles scowled. "It'll just get it dirty."  
Peter looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Its already dirty."  
Stiles grunted, and pushed Peter's hand away. He received a growl and a flash of red eyes, but Stiles just pushed his hands away again. He was used to the power play; Derek constantly did it.   
"You cant use that bandage," Stiles said. He leaned over, wincing as he picked up the tunic from the floor. It was Peter's.   
Peter growled again when Stiles moved to rip it. Stiles grunted, his muscles weak from infection.   
"If you use the same bandage, the infection will stay," he said.   
Peter sat there, glaring at Stiles as he struggled to rip the fabric, and then exhaled and grabbed the tunic from Stiles' hands.   
He ripped the fabric easily in a long thin piece before dropping the tunic and the old bandages to the ground by his feet.   
Stiles relaxed at that, and let Peter wrap his leg back up.   
When he finished, Stiles swung his legs over, wincing at the pain.   
"What are you doing?"  
Stiles made sure the tartan was still covering him.   
"I have to take a piss," he said. Peter huffed and stood up. He grabbed a belt from the pile of clothes on the floor, shaking it out before returning to Stiles.   
Peter held onto the belt as he helped Stiles to his feet, and snatched the tartan from Stiles.   
Stiles grunted, using a hand to cover himself as the other one held Peter to keep from falling.   
"I've seen you naked before, Stiles," Peter reminded him, folding the tartan in half. Stiles didn't respond to that. He noticed Peter was using his name more, instead of the Irish pet name. He wondered why.   
Peter wrapped the tartan around his waist and secured it with a belt so that it sat at his hips. It reached his knees, and Stiles gave an indignant scowl.   
"What?" Peter asked, sounding put upon.   
"You put me in a dress," Stiles grumbled. Peter rolled his eyes before leading Stiles to the tent flap. Stiles let out a small yelp when he put pressure on his injured leg, and Peter easily adjusted his hold so he had most of Stiles' weight.   
"Its not a dress," Peter growled. "Its a kilt."  
"I thought only the Scottish wore kilts."  
"All Celts wear kilts," Peter said shortly. The two stopped when Stiles felt himself get tired, and was dismayed to see he hadn't made it far.   
Peter held him, and Stiles looked up at him with a scowl.   
"I can't go with you glued to my side."  
Peter grunted before releasing him and stepping back. Stiles swayed a little, but managed to balance most of his weight on his uninjured leg.   
He held onto a small tree to his right to keep from falling as he fumbled through the fabric. Once he had it out of the way, he peed, then let the fabric fall back down.   
Peter was back to his side and walked him back to the tent. Stiles didnt like how exhausted he was just from the small walk from the tent, and once he was in the bed, he closed his eyes.   
*-*  
Stiles woke up to a loud howl. His eyes snapped open and he sat up so fast he got dizzy. It was dark out.   
A low growl emitted from his side, and Stiles spun to see Peter sitting up.   
"What was that?" Stiles asked, looking towards the flap of the tent.   
"Omega," Peter said, standing to his feet. Stiles watched him leave the tent in only his pants. He sat there for a while before getting to his feet. He staggered, moving to the weapons leaning against the chest. He grabbed the sword, not bothering to unsheath it as he leaned his weight on it and walked to the tent flap.   
It was around midnight from what Stiles could see. He stumbled out of the tent, his thigh flairing with pain. Stiles gritted his teeth as he leaned against the sword, looking for Peter.   
It had to have been almost an hour since he left. And Stiles wasn't worried. He was curious.   
"What are you doing?"   
Stiles jumped, shifting his weight to his injured leg and yelping. Peter quickly grabbed him before he dropped, both arms under Stiles'. His face pressed into Peter's chest and he took a second for the pain to leave before he got his good leg under him.   
"Just getting some fresh air," Stiles managed. Peter let out a low growl and practically lifted Stiles off the ground as he turned and walked into the tent again.   
Peter lead Stiles to the bed of furs, and once he was seated, Peter grabbed the sword and set it back where it had been.   
"What did you do?" Stiles found himself asking.   
"I took care of it."  
"You mean you killed it," Stiles corrected, lowering himself onto his back. Peter was right next to him seconds later.   
"Does death upset you?" It wasn't asked out of concern or curiosity, but out of irritation to Stiles' reaction.   
"It doesn't upset you?" Stiles snapped back, turning his head to glare at Peter. His eyes flashed red at the action.   
"No," he growled. "It doesnt. If it means keeping my pack safe I'll kill everyone. Including you."  
Stiles broke the stare down, looking up at the ceiling of the tent.   
He didn't say anything, but the sudden promise that Peter would kill him if Stiles endangered the pack at all settled something in his chest. He was still upset, but it ebbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day because I'm impatient and I want this book finished because the ending is going to be fantastic and I already have another steter book in my 'make a plot before you forget it' folder!   
> I've also updated the tags a bit per a comment request so yay for that! Hope you enjoy!


	16. Chapter 16

It had been 28 days since Stiles went to the nemeton. 28 days since he woke up in a time period he still wasn't exactly sure of.   
The entire month of February came and went in 28 days, but again, it felt like only yesterday that Stiles was snatched up by Peter and forced into a mate claim. His leg was healed for the most part, and he was slowly learning to accept his new life.   
He still woke up not knowing if he was still dreaming or not.   
Instead of his dad comforting him into reality, it was Peter. Stiles didn't know what to make of that, other than the claim having some type of effect on him. Stiles refused to even entertain the idea that he was claimed, because accepting that meant accepting the bite, and Stiles had already been offered the bite and he declined. It was back in freshman year, when Derek's uncle had lost his mind. He didn't want it then, and he didn't want it now. That was three years ago. Or, 300 years into the future.   
Stiles was in thr grass with his eyes closed, soaking up as much sun as he could. Peter had gotten a little slack with his hovering. Stiles was allowed out of the tent, could go to the bathroom on his own. He stayed close by, but he didn't think Stiles would run. Which irritated Stiles, because he was right.   
Stiles hadn't thought about running again since he got those three wolves killed. Every time he thought about it, the image of that younger one staring at Stiles with tears in his eyes before getting his brains blown out flashed through his mind and the urge to book it disappeared immediately.   
Plus, Stiles didn't want to put his pack in danger again. It had been 56 days since Scott killed the Nogitsune, and some part of Stiles worried it hadn't actually died. That it was just another illusion and the Nogitsune was just waiting. So, until he knew for sure that he wouldnt loose himself to the dark Kitsune, Stiles was content with living in the past, stuck somewhere between 1730 and 1765.   
Stiles frowned when a shadow moved over his face, blocking the sun. He opened his eyes, scowling up at Peter.   
"You're in my light," he said shortly. Peter didn't move.   
"Come with me," Peter said. He still didn't move, and after a couple seconds of Stiles trying to will him to leave, he grunted and got to his feet. His thigh didn't hurt any more, just ached like the skin was pulled too tight. He was sure it was with how the emissary butchered the stitches.   
Once Stiles stood, Peter walked off. Stiles huffed, following after him.   
"What are we doing?" Stiles asks as Peter leads him deep into the woods, away from the tent field.   
Peter said nothing, but Stiles followed anyway.   
After a while, they reached another, smaller clearing, and Stiles frowns, stopping just at the edge.   
"Why are we here?" Stiles asked, arms crossing over his chest. Peter finally turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow before motioning for Stiles to come over. Stiles grunts, but walks over to Peter.   
"You don't know how to defend yourself," Peter said, eyes dropping to Stiles' nearly healed leg. Stiles frowned.   
"Yes I do," Stiles countered. "I'm just not used to a broadsword swinging at my head."  
"It wasn't a broadsword," Peter said. Stiles just rolled his eyes. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. It was big, it was sharp, and it hurt.   
"I will not have my mate defenseless," Peter continued. "Especially while you're human."  
Stiles frowned at that. The way he worded it made Stiles think he wouldn't be for long, and Stiles did not like that.   
He didn't want the bite. And he wouldn't accept Peter as his mate. He could accept that his life was here, could accept that Stiles was a bed warmer, and that there was a claim connecting the two, but accept Peter as a mate and accept the bite was not going to happen.   
"I'm capable of taking care of myself," Stiles said. "I've survived this long."  
But that's all Stiles had seemed to be doing lately. Since Scott got bitten it was only survive. Survive the next full moon, survive Derek's crazy uncle, survive the alpha pack and the darach. Survive the Nogitsune. And now, survive in this time with this Hale pack.   
"Then show me what you can do," Peter said, looking mostly amused, like he wasn't expecting much. Stiles bristled at that, unfolding his arms.   
He glared at Peter before moving back towards the woods, grumbling to himself as he bent down and searched for something he could use.   
When he found a branch he deemed worthy, he tugged the stray twigs and dead leaves off and stomped back into the clearing.   
It was a little shorter than his lacrosse stick, but longer than his bat. He held it like a lacrosse stick, twisting his hands against it as he moved back to Peter.  
"You ready?" Peter asked, eyebrow raised. Stiles nodded, and Peter quickly advanced.   
Stiles expected a slash of claws, and quickly ducked, jumping back and getting out of Peter's strike zone.   
Stiles was more of an avoidance player. He knew enough about fighting and ducking to keep him alive long enough for his pack to come, and after a good half hour, Peter noticed.   
"Why don't you try actually attacking me instead of avoiding me."  
Stiles frowned at that. "That's just asking to get killed," he said.   
"Is that what your old alpha said?" Peter asked, cocking a brow. In fact, that's exactly what Derek had said.   
Peter hummed again, seeming to read Stiles' mind before walking up to him.   
"My mate needs to know how to protect himself," Peter said, grabbing the stick from Stiles and adjusting Stiles' grip.   
*-*  
Stiles was panting, hands on his knees. His thigh throbbed from exertion, but didn't hurt. His hands on the other hand, stung. As well as his shoulders. Sweat clung to his hair, sticking it to the skin of his forehead and neck. It was growing out, and Stiles didn't like it.   
"I give up," Stiles managed to sputter out between breaths. Peter had been the one avoiding Stiles now, the two switching roles. Stiles had used the stick and even then he couldnt land a hit on the werewolf.   
Peter stood with a raised eyebrow and his arms folded over his chest. Stiles managed to straighten, lifting his hands to his head to open his chest up.   
"You did good," Peter said, moving forward. Stiles gave him an incredulous look and a scoff, managing to settle his breathing a little more.   
"I didn't touch you," he countered, dropping his arms. He ran a half across his forehead, shoving his hair back. Peter reached him, tugging his arm so Stiles moved into his space.   
"I didn't expect you would," Peter said, lowering his head to Stiles' neck. Stiles grunted, shoving at his chest.   
"I'm all sweaty and gross, get off." Peter didn't release him, and Stiles grunted again when he felt the flat of Peter's tongue press to the pulse point of his neck.   
"I need a shower," he groaned, finally managing to get Peter off. Peter cocked an eyebrow, not knowing the word. Stiles cursed inwardly.   
"I need to wash off," he corrected himself. "I smell bad and I'm all dirty."  
"You don't smell bad."  
"I can smell myself, Peter," Stiles said flatly. "I smell bad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah 😭 I'm going to have to slow down in my posting and I dont want to!! I have to finish my other books otherwise they'll never get finished.   
> I say slow down but idk if I actually will, I just know I need to get the other books finished! So if I miss a day I'm really sorry!!😭😭


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles walked into the water with all his clothes on. He didn't have the energy to take them off, plus Peter was tight there, and it wasnt like the river was a close kept secret. East Hills River had run right through the city of Beacon Hills, with the rural side to the West, and the warehouse district to the East.   
Now though, both sides of the river was forest. Trails lead to and from the river bank, and Stiles had already passed two people on the trip.   
Peter had only agreed to let Stiles wash off after Stiles let him come too.   
The water was up to his thighs when Stiles fell back, letting the water engulf him. It was cold, but it felt good. Stiles surfaced seconds later, standing up so the current wouldnt sweep him away. Peter looked amused, leaning against the tree with his arms crossed.   
"Are you finished?" He asked. Stiles scowled, and dropped back into the water in answer. He wondered briefly if he could drown himself, but surfaced yet again. Peter would drag him out by his ankle, and drowning was pretty painful.   
Peter shifted suddenly, uncrossing his arms and letting a low growl vibrate through his chest.   
"Stiles," he said, voice laced with the growl he emitted. "Get out of the water."  
Stiles moved towards the bank, clothes sopping and hanging from his body. Peter didnt wait for him to get closer. He reached forward, grabbing Stiles' shoulder and yanking him towards the werewolf. Stiles grunted, before his eyes locked onto who Peter had heard.   
It was a woman, and she had a basket of clothes in her arms. Stiles rolled his eyes, glaring up at Peter before nodding once at the woman.   
She smiled, but it seemed forced when she looked at the two.   
"Alpha," she greeted softly, dropping the basket down by the river.   
She turned to Stiles then, and Stiles felt something in his chest tighten. He didn't like the way her eyes moved to his neck, and he realized the wet tunic had dropped low to expose more of the lichtenberg figure.   
"Let's go," Peter hummed, grabbing Stiles by the arm and tugging him from the river bank. Stiles nodded, heading back to the tent field with soaking clothes.   
Stiles grumbled the whole way back, wringing out his tunic and slipping a bit in the leaves.   
When they reached the tent, Stiles walked inside, immediately taking his tunic off. Peter stepped in too, taking the tunic from Stiles and draping it over the chest.   
Before Stiles could reach for a spare pair of clothes, Peter curled himself at his back, wrapping his arms around Stiles and growling lowly.   
Stiles' breath hitched in his throat when Peter's hand cupped his crotch. He wasn't expecting it. Definitely not from Peter.   
Peter's hand worked through the soaking pants, making Stiles' breathing go a little uneven. Peter lapped at his neck, sucking at the skin before his hand dipped into his pants.   
Stiles couldn't help the groan that escaped his throat, and he cut it off short the moment he realized he'd done it. He felt Peter smirk against his neck, his hand working Stiles hard.   
And then Peter pulled his hand back, and yanked his soaking pants down. Stiles grunted, knowing where this was going. Peter spun him around, and Stiles nearly tripped over the pants.   
Peter kissed him hard. Stiles kept his hands by his sides. His hands shot to Peter's arms when Peter stepped forward, forcing Stiles to move back.   
He was shoved to the bed of furs, Peter crawling up his naked body.   
Stiles turned his head, breathing erratic. He told himself it wasnt a submission, it was because he didn't want Peter to kiss him again. Peter attached his mouth to his neck, his hands dragging across Stiles' body.   
Stiles let out a shocked breath when Peter rocked down into Stiles, dragging his clothed crotch against Stiles.   
He let out a soft moan when the rocking continued, hands at his sides.   
"I want to watch you cum," Peter growled lowly. Stiles shuttered and pinched his eyes closed. Peter pulled back, and Stiles forced himself to open his eyes. He didn't like how his body was reacting. He blamed the claim between them, and the fact that the last time he'd been touched was a year ago.   
He tried thinking up excuses for why his body reacted to Peter's touch. Peter hadn't touched him before; had done what he needed and left Stiles alone. But now Peter was touching him, working him up and Stiles hated that he didn't hate it.   
Peter yanked his own shirt off before dropping back down to lap at Stiles' neck.   
His hand found Stiles again, squeezing down at the base before bringing his hand up to the head. Stiles shuttered again, his hands grabbing at the fur under him.   
Stiles grunted when Peter grabbed at his leg, pulling it up to wrap around his shoulder.   
Stiles eyes landed on Peter's other hand, seeing him tugging his pants down, and Stiles closed his eyes again.   
Stiles' leg was lifted a little more, before Stiles felt Peter at his entrance. He held his breath, body tensing.   
It hurt. He whimpered, one hand raising to grab at Peter's hip, dull nails digging into the skin.   
Peter had one hand pressed into the furs by his head, keeping his leg up. His other hand was at Stiles' cock.   
Stiles can't keep up with it. He hurt, his body struggling to adjust to Peter, but with Peter's hand working him closer to his own orgasm. It forced wincing moans and breathy cries from his mouth.   
"God, you look beautiful," Peter growled. Stiles mewled. His grip on Peter's hip tightened, and Peter pressed in further before pulling almost all the way out.   
Peter's hand moved with the thrusting, working Stiles up further. He leaned down mouths pressed together.   
Stiles struggled to catch a breath, his mouth dropping open in a moan when Peter's hand got faster. Peter licked into his mouth, growling lowly in appreciation.   
Peter's hips snapped forward, Stiles letting out a shout when Peter hit his prostate. Peter paused, pulling back to look at Stiles.   
He pulled back again, blue eyes looking intently down at Stiles before snapping his hips back in the same spot. Stiles moaned, back lifting off the fur. Peter smirked before dropping down to resume his attack on Stiles' neck. His teeth were dull.   
Once Peter found his spot, he continued to hit it, working Stiles into an embarrassing bumbling mess. He was moaning and whimpering and gasping, and he was so close he could feel it in his stomach.   
"That's it," Peter grunts, thrusting into him again. Stiles knew he could smell how close Stiles was.   
Stiles groaned, legs tensing as Peter hit him in the prostate again and again, and once more before he was cumming.   
Peter continued thrusting into him before cumming himself.   
He growled, stilling deep inside Stiles, who couldn't get his breathing under control fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a change in the bedroom! Peter being somewhat considerate of Stiles' pleasure????   
> Also, the woman is important!! Remember the woman!  
> Technically I didn't skip a day, I'm just posting super late into the evening instead of the morning like I normally do!   
> As always let me know what you guys think!!! It makes me extremely happy to read your comments!


	18. Chapter 18

'Let me in, Stiles.'  
Stiles snapped his eyes open, his hands shaking as he looked around. He was in his bed, the bedroom door shut. His eyes searched frantically through the room before landing on the open closet door.   
'We're going to kill them all, Stiles.'  
"No," Stiles whimpered, staring at the open door. "No, you're not real."  
'I am, Stiles.'   
Stiles shook his head, feeling panic grip his heart.   
'You know as well as I that you can't kill me.'  
"We stopped you," Stiles stuttered out, hands fisting the blankets around his waist. He watched with a growing panic when the closet door began to slowly swing open.   
'When is a door not a door?'  
Stiles jumped out of bed, running to the door and slamming it shut as quickly as he could. His breathing was labored, his chest tightening and his hands shaking. He stumbled back from the door, the only sound was his breathing.   
He turned to the bedroom door, the sudden urge to run to his dad and crawl into his bed so strong.   
He moved to the door, twisting the handle. The door didn't move.   
"No, no, no," Stiles panicked, yanking the door again and again in a growing hysteria.   
'We're stuck together, Stiles. You and I are the same.'  
"No, I'm not like you," Stiles whimpered, pressing his forehead against the door, struggling to calm himself.   
"I'm not like you, I'm not-"  
'We made such a great team, Stiles.'  
Stiles yanked at the door again, tears falling down his cheeks.   
'We had so much fun, didn't we, Stiles?'  
"No! No, no!" Stiles shouted, slamming his palm against the door. "Get out of my head!"  
'Let me in.'  
Stiles let a sob rip through his lungs. "Get out! Get out, get out, get out!"  
He was gripping his hair, physically couldnt turn around. He wanted out of this damn room.   
'Let me in, Stiles.'  
"Get out!" He screamed, banging his hand on the door again. "Get out! Leave me alone!"  
'Stiles-'  
"Stiles!"  
Stiles woke up with a scream ripping through his throat, arms and legs flailing in an attempt to get away. He sucked in a sharp breath, body shuddering before another scream ripped from his lungs.   
He was forced into a seated position, his arms forced to cross over his chest. His back was pressed against someone's chest, the way Noah had held him.   
His legs kicked, the panic too much. He couldnt even hear the voice in his ear.   
"Its okay! Stiles, calm down!" Peter growled, holding him easily. Stiles let out a sob, body still shaking. He stopped kicking, his head dropping forward as he sucked in a lungful of air.   
It took him a minute for his brain to catch up, and he sat up a little further, out of Peter's grasp. He tugged at his tunic, frantic.   
Once it was off, his shaky hands felt for his shoulder. "Is it gone? Is it gone?"  
Peter held his arms, forcing him to stop.   
"No," he said. Stiles let out a shaky breath, letting Peter pull him back to his chest.   
He's had nightmares since coming here, but this one was definitely the worst of them. Stiles hadn't felt like that in a long time.   
"I think it's time you tell me what that scar means," Peter said. Stiles was still shaking, though not as bad. He ducked in another breath, trying to even out his breathing as Peter held him.   
Stiles knew he should. He should tell Peter so he was prepared to kill him when the lichtenberg figure started to disappear.   
He needed a moment, and Peter gave it to him, allowing him to return to some semblance of normal. He kept a hold of him, arms crossed over Stiles' bare chest, tightening with every inhale Stiles took.   
"You promised you'd kill it," Stiles managed to say, swallowing thickly. He felt Peter nod behind him. After a moment longer, Stiles told him.   
He told him about opening a door into his mind, about what the Nogitsune did -what Stiles did. He told him about the lichtenberg figure and how his pack thought the Nogitsune was gone, but how Stiles knew he wasn't.   
"It came back when the Nogitsune was defeated," Stiles said. "If he was gone it would've gone away. It's still there, which means so is the Nogitsune."  
Peter had been silent for the whole thing, letting Stiles rant. And Stiles did rant, he went off on a tangent because it was the first time Stiles had been able to actually talk to someone about it.  
He told Peter about how it felt, leeching off of people's pain and suffering, how it wasn't just the Nogitsune in his head, but he had been there too, stuck and forced to watch.   
He told Peter about how he killed Allison, and Aidan, how he nearly killed Scott, and Kira and Lydia. How Scott's mom and dad were almost killed because of the oni, hoe he ransacked the hospital and killed so many people just for the fun of it.   
And when he was finished, he had became shaking all over again, and he couldnt help the tears that spilled over his cheeks.   
And Peter sat there, holding him and saying nothing. So Stiles said nothing. He just sat there, struggling to even out his breathing.   
When Peter did move, it was to lay the two of them down on their sides and tuck Stiles into his chest. Stiles let him, because if he was really being honest with himself in that moment, he needed it. He needed it bad enough to hurt.   
And when he was close to finally falling back to sleep, he felt Peter press his mouth to the nape of his neck.   
*-*   
When Stiles woke up later the next day, he's still pressed into Peter. He let's himself stretch out in his hold, legs straightening and toes pointing. His back arches and pops.   
Peter doesn't stir, but Stiles knows hes awake. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes to try and remove the feeling of crying.   
Peter climbs out of the bed, leaving Stiles put.   
A tunic is dropped into Stiles' lap, and he looks up to see Peter leaning over him, eyes intense as he looks at Stiles.   
"The Nogitsune isn't in there," he says, full of confidence as a finger taps lightly at Stiles' head near his temple.   
"You don't know that," Stiles shot back. Peter leaned further over him, placing both hands on either side of Stiles' hips. Stiles drops to his elbows, not liking how close Peter gets.   
"I do," Peter counters. "The mark of the oni and your scent proves you're still very human, and all alone up there."  
Again, Peter taps lightly on the side of Stiles' head.   
"I picked you as my mate for a reason, marthanóir," he continued, dropping his head to press their mouths together for a split second. "I need a strong mate, and you just proved to me I made the right choice in choosing you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't post yesterday! I've been writing for Ready to Comply, trying to wrap it up (I dont have very long before its finished!) But I wanted to post for Alpha because it's my favorite story and I love all your comments!  
> I'm going on a 4 day vacation next week so I'll be able to write a shit ton!!  
> Hope you guys like the chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles was very aware of someone staring at him. It wasn't like the usual glances and scowls he got from the pack, it felt like someone was trying to burn a hole through Stiles with their eyes.   
He lifted his head, eyes narrowing as he looked around. The pack was doing their own thing, and Stiles didn't see anyone suddenly jerk their head when his eyes trailed over them.   
Peter is with his horse -which Stiles found out is named Capall Donn -which literally translates to brown horse- and isn't paying much attention to Stiles.   
Stiles pulls his eyes from Peter, and his frown deepens. He still feels eyes on him, but no one within looking distance is looking. He turns his head to the woods on the other side of the tent, but sees nothing.   
"Something on your mind?" Peter asks, just loud enough for Stiles to hear him from the couple yards between them. Stiles turns to look at Peter, who is adjusting the reins on Capall Donn.   
"No," Sriles says slowly, and takes another look around. "Just feeling a little weird."  
"Come over here," Peter calls. Stiles gets up, making his way to Peter and Capall Donn.   
The horse shoots its head forward and nudges Stiles in the best, nearly knocking him back a couple steps. He scowls at the horse, stepping to the side and away from the horse's head.   
"Going somewhere?" Stiles asks, eyeing the horse when he tries to push him again. He just takes another step back, nearly on the other side of Peter.   
"I need to grab a few things from town," Peter hums, synching up the saddle a bit before turning to Stiles. "I don't trust you here alone."  
Stiles rolls his eyes. "I haven't tried to run off," he said. Not since those three werewolves took a bullet for helping him. He didn't say that, but he and Peter thought it.  
"That's not it," Peter said, helping Stiles into the saddle. The horse shifted and Stiles tensed. "You piss people off."  
Stiles raised an eyebrow at that. Peter climbs in behind him, grabbing the reins.   
"You mean I piss Colin off," Stiles corrects. "The dude's a jerk."  
"I have no idea what you just said," Peter grunted, kicking the horse into a quick walk. "But yes, I'm talking about Colin."  
*-*  
They make it into town, and Stiles wonders what part of Beacon Hills this will become. Theres a town square of sorts with what looks like the stocks. Stiles was glad it was empty.   
There were three large buildings, which Peter explained belonged to the Nobleman, a blacksmith and the hospital of sorts.   
Surrounding the three buildings were smaller ones, each with signs hanging from the cobblestone walls.   
Capall Donn was tied to a post outside of one that Stiles wasn't sure of. He swung his leg over, and dropped a little further than he thought he would. He grunted, but Peter easily grabbed him under the arms while he pulled his foot out of the stirrup.   
When both feet were planted, and Capall Donn had snorted his displeasure to Stiles' less than graceful dismount, the two headed for the door.   
"So what is this place?" Stiles asks, the two walking in. Stiles' eyebrows raise into his hairline.   
Stiles once visited New Orleans with his dad a few years ago, and the two had accidentally walked into a voodoo shop. It had freaked Stiles out so much to see the jars of what Stiles assumed was herbs and odd body parts, as well as the dolls and masks and over all negative feeling of the space that he and his dad had spent the rest of their vacation as far from the French Quarter as possible.   
Stiles looked at the walls, all with floor to ceiling shelves filled with potions and body parts and skulls and herbs. Dolls and masks and stones. Even herbs hanging from the ceiling, and Stiles shivered. He kind of wanted to turn and run out of the door, but Peter placed a hand on his lower back and pushed him further into the space.   
The further in he went, the more oppressive the air became, and Stiles tried really hard not to panic. He hated it in here.   
"I just need to grab something," Peter says, obviously smelling the unease radiating from Stiles.   
He pulls away from Stiles and heads further back into the store when Stiles refuses to step any further. After a moment of just standing in the middle of the store, Stiles decides to make his way to the shelf housing a plethora of books.   
Hes mostly just looking so he isn't standing there awkwardly while he waited for Peter. His eyes skim blindly over the titles, the old leather bindings worn from use.   
Stiles freezes when his eyes land on something familiar. The book has blue leather, silver lettering on the spine, and Stiles is reaching for it before he can stop himself, because it should be impossible.   
He pulls the book off of the shelf, and its heavy. He turns to look at the cover, catching the name of the author and his heartbeat is beginning to skyrocket.   
He flips the book open, and turns to the first page. It's not possible, and yet there, on the first page right beside the copyright, is the year the book was published.   
Stiles is positively shaking now and he nearly drops the book because it wasn't possible for it to be here. Stiles was sure it was around 1760, yet the date beside the copyright said 1902.   
But that wasn't right because Peter dies in 1765.   
Hes so focused on the book, he doesnt hear someone step up beside him until she speaks.   
"Find anything interesting?"  
Stiles jumps and slams the book shut, spinning to face her. It's the woman from the river the week before. She looks at him with a calm smile, though it doesn't make Stiles feel well.   
"Just looking," Stiles manages to say, and he quickly puts the book back. The women's smile widens and she looks at the spine of the book before stepping a little closer to Stiles.   
"Have you ever had your palms read?" She asked. Stiles subconsciously closed his hands, shaking his head.   
"I don't believe in that," he said. Which was half a lie. If he could believe in werewolves and a time traveling tree and druids and wendigos and everything else he's ever seen since freshman year of high school, he had no trouble at all in believing in witches and palmestry. But he didnt want his palm read. Because this woman had a book from 1902.  
"Its free of charge," she continued. Stiles didn't like how pushy she was being, and side stepped her.   
"I'm good, thanks-" he was just about to walk to find Peter when she snatched his arm up. He grunted, tried to pull his hand free, but the woman was stronger than he thought, even if she was shorter than he was.   
She forced his palm open, and she looked at it for all of three seconds before Stiles managed to yank his hand free. He closed it into a fist, glaring down at the woman and stepping back further.   
"What the fuck," he snapped, but she was smiling like she had all the answers and Stiles wanted to run. Because he was sure she did.   
"What year were you born?" She asked. Stiles looked around the shop for Peter, but he must've been in the back because he couldnt see him.   
"I dont think that's any of your business," Stiles ground out, setting his heated gaze back to her. "And I don't appreciate being attacked."  
The woman just smiled again and Stiles got major Deaton vibes. He wanted to leave.   
"I didn't attack you," she said, and she took a step forward and to the side, and suddenly she was blocking Stiles into the shop.   
"I'm the alpha's mate. If you hurt me you wont make it to the door," he threatened, stepping back further into the store.   
"You don't belong here," she continued, taking another step. "You weren't born in this time, I can feel it."  
Stiles felt his heart in his throat, and he backed up again, and hit something. Stiles' heart jerked in his chest before familiar arms snaked around his shoulders and a low growl rumbled against his back.   
The woman cocked an eyebrow, not at all looking frightened.   
"Be careful, traveller," she said, stepping aside. "This world is no place for you."  
Stiles shuddered, and Peter growled low in threat before ushering Stiles out of the shop. The instant he was outside, the oppressive air dissipated, and he felt like he could finally take in a steady breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have taken off!! How do you think Peter's gonna react??????  
> Also, I'm a couple chapters away from finishing Ready to Comply, and I've been working on another Steter fic that I might post once RtC is finished! We shall see tho I'm a whore for writing books even when I have ones I havent finished yet!


	20. Chapter 20

Peter helped Stiles onto Capall Donn, then sidled in behind him before kicking the horse into action.   
Stiles still felt his heart hammering in his chest, and it didn't slow until they were out of town.   
Stiles frowned when he realized Peter wasn't returning to the tent field they had commandeered, and twisted in his seat. "Where are we going?"  
Peter didn't say anything, so Stiles settled back facing forward. He wondered if Peter had heard her. If he was going to drop him off somewhere in the middle of nowhere to fend for himself or kill him and dump the body. He didn't know why he suddenly wished Peter wouldn't kill him, because he was all on board for him to do it when the lichtenberg figure disappeared.   
Peter pulled the horse to a stop deep into the woods, deeming it far enough away from anyone before sliding off the horse. Stiles went to do the same, but then the horse was moving and he froze in the saddle. Peter walked the horse to a tree and tied the reins, then turned to Stiles.  
Stiles managed to get off the horse a little easier, though Peter still had to steady him when he landed.   
"Any reason we're in the middle of nowhere?" Stiles asked, nerves tightening his voice. Peter leads him to a fallen tree and forces Stiles to sit. He does, mostly because Peter is stronger than he is, but also because he was nervous. He didn't doubt Peter heard the woman talking to him.   
"You never answered her question," Peter said finally, and yep, he'd definitely heard. Stiles tensed. Telling him about the Nogitsune was one thing, this was entirely different.   
"It was a stupid question," Stiles counters. "Didn't see her need to dig into my personal life."  
Peter growled, obviously displeased with Stiles, and Stiles sighs and looks up at Peter.   
"Why does it matter what she wanted to know?" He asked. "She's just some crazy lady who sells dead things."  
"She was born in 1923," Peter says, arms still crossed over his chest. Stiles feels like he's been sucker punched. His head snaps up to look wide eyed at Peter.   
"What?"  
Peter sighed and dropped to his knees in front of Stiles, hands on Stiles' legs.   
"You're not the first traveler, Stiles. Definitely not the first one I've met."  
"What?"   
He couldnt think of anything else to say, because Peter was telling him in not so few words that he knew about time travel, and had an inkling that Stiles wasn't from this time. And the woman at the river, at the store. Peter had growled a warning to her, like he didn't trust her, and Stiles was struggling to keep up.   
"What?" He said again.   
"What year were you born?" Peter asked again.   
"1994," he chokes out. This was crazy. How could Peter be so calm about this? Why wasn't he freaking out?  
"Its 1764 now," Peter said, and Stiles feels like someone sucker punched him again and he doubles over, dropping his head between his knees.   
"This is too crazy," Stiles grunts. "How are you so calm?" He lifts his head to look at Peter. "I'm three hundred years old, and you're acting like we're talking about the weather!"  
Stiles' head is back between his knees, and Peter uses a hand to squeeze at his neck.   
"I'm a werewolf, Stiles," Peter hums. "I run into plenty of supernatural creatures."  
"I'm not a supernatural creature," Stiles reminds him unhelpfully. Peter motion's for Stiles to sit up, and when he does, Peter pressed a kiss to his lips.   
"Maybe bringing you eith me wasn't the best idea," Peter hummed, pulling back to raise an eyebrow. Stiles couldn't help but let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.   
"How long did you know?" Stiles asked after a moment. Peter stood up, pulling Stiles up by his hands and leading him to Capall Donn.   
"Your clothes gave you away," Peter hummed, getting Stiles onto the horse before climbing on behind.   
"Is that why you claimed me?" Stiles asked.   
"No. Did you not listen when we had this discussion?"  
"That was before I knew you knew," Stiles grunted. Capall Donn was kicked into a trot, the two heading for the tent field.   
Peter dropped his nose into Stiles' neck, inhaling before pressing a kiss to his pulse point.   
After a long while, Peter spoke again.   
"You wont be able to go back," he said. Stiles blinked, his mind taking a moment to catch up before he turned to frown at Peter.   
"Why not?"  
Peter just rested his chin on Stiles' shoulder, the horse moving widely under them.   
"Everyone tries, but the nemeton doesn't take them back," he said. Stiles turned his head forward again, eyes shifting from left to right unseeingly as he mulled over what was said.   
"How many others are there?"  
"I've only met two, including the woman from the shop," Peter said. Stiles was still thinking, still running over what Peter had said. People tried to go back but couldn't. The nemeton didnt let them. Which means there was absolutely no way Stiles could.   
He had begun accepting his life here -he'd been here for almost two months now- but the thought of never going back pinched at his stomach. He fucking hated that tree.   
And then something else hit Stiles hard in the chest. Peter said it was 1764. He twisted in the saddle, frowning at Peter.   
"What month is it?"  
"May," Peter said. "Why?"  
"Just curious," Stiles said, spinning back around. May, 1764. If Stiles remembered correctly, Peter dies in the beginning of 1765, meaning they had around seven months before the Hales would found Beacon Hills. Stiles remembers the story he read; it was the battle between Hale and a rival pack for the land, the rival pack having been on the land first. Peter ended up dying at the hands of the alpha, and when Peter's alpha power shifts to another member of his pack, the other pack is wiped out.   
"Do you have an heir?" Stiles asks suddenly. Peter laughs.   
"No, I don't," he says, rubbing his nose against Stiles' neck. "Why?"  
"Who becomes alpha when you die?" Stiles asks instead. He didn't know why he cared. He didn't. Really.   
"It depends," Peter said, sounding deep in thought. "If a member of my pack kills me, they'd become alpha."  
"What if another alpha kills you?"   
Peter is silent as he thinks it over. "Nothing happens," he settles on. "I'll die an alpha."  
Stiles scowls at that. It made no sense.   
"Why the sudden interest?" Peter asks.   
"I'm just trying to fill in the blanks to the story," Stiles hums, eyebrows furrowed in thought.   
"What story?"  
Stiles grunts when Peter's hands find his thighs, the reins still held loosely between his fingers.   
"My pack -in the future- they're Hales too," he said. "I've heard stories about you, but after 300 years, it's got some holes."  
Peter pressed his mouth to Stiles' neck, just under his jaw and Stiles let out a shudder.   
"You'll have to tell me about these other Hales," Peter growls, dull teeth scraping against Stiles' sensitive skin. He tilts his head a little. It's not a submission. Peter takes full advantage of the exposed skin, and by the time they reached the tent field again, Stiles has a hickey under his jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So instead of writing more for Alpha and Ready to Comply I wrote a short story and kind of made myself really sad, so I decided to post this too!   
> I didn't answer a lot of your questions in the last chapter because they got answered in this one, but please comment on it with more questions and ideas I love it when I get that email saying someone commented!!


	21. Chapter 21

"...can't stand it! Mark shouldve killed him."  
Stiles lifted an eyebrow, looking up to see Colin passing with another man around his age. Colin turned to him, glaring fiercely.   
"You had a chance to do it yourself when the alpha was gone," Stiles reminded, back leaning against the tree. "Too bad you wont do anything that might make him mad."  
Colin snarled, eyes flashing blue. A responding growl had Colin snapping back. Stiles glanced over to see Peter stepping out from the tent, red eyes glaring at Colin. Stiles couldnt help but smirk, settling further back into the tree when the other werewolf apologized to Peter and tugged Colin away.   
Stiles grunted his displeasure, returning to the stick in his hands. He had been peeling the bark off it bit by bit.   
"You shouldn't poke at him," Peter sighs, moving to sit down in the grass beside him. Stiles just rolls his eyes.   
"I've run into plenty of betas with alpha complexes. He doesn't frighten me."  
Peter chuckled at that. "Why do you keep him around anyway?" Stiles continued. "From what I've seen he doesnt do much."  
Peter huffed and leaned over to rest his back against the tree beside Stiles.   
"Colin is pack," Peter hummed. "And although he has a big mouth, there are no actions to back it up. Kicking him out of the pack would be too much work."  
Stiles grunted again. He seemed to do that a lot. He blamed Derek. The guy was a grunter. And a growler and an eye roller and a heavy sigher.   
"You know, in my time," Stiles said, going back to pick at the bark off the stick. "We had a dick like Colin. His name was Jackson."  
"Hmm?" Peter hummed, urging Stiles to continue. Stiles felt him lean forward, his chin resting on Stiles' shoulder.   
"Yeah, Derek bit him, but he didn't turn into a werewolf, he turned into a kanima," Stiles said. "Dude was a pain in the ass when he was human, and then he grew scales and had paralyzing venom."  
"Sounds like a wonderful man," Peter huffed, his nose pressing into the side of Stiles' neck. Stiles snorted.   
"I feel like if Colin hadn't been born a werewolf, he definitely would've turned into a Kanima like Jackson. They've both got that my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours complex going on. Both think they're tough shit when they arent."  
"You think you're tough shit," Peter hummed, a smirk on his lips. Stiles shrugged the shoulder Peter wasn't holding down with his chin.   
"Yeah, but I'm not compensating," he said.   
"Not compensating what?"  
Stiles grunted, shaking his head. "Its another dick thing," he grumbled, embarrassingly. "Jackson compensated because he was embarrassed by his size. Colin is probably doing the same, though maybe not about his dick. I think he has a problem not being in charge."  
"You definitely don't need to compensate," Peter growled low, leaning further into Stiles to nip at Stiles' neck. Stiles choked on that, coughing a little and waving his hand back and forth, trying to brush off the comment.   
"Shut up," he managed, knowing his cheeks were pink. Peter chuckled before standing up. Stiles dropped the stick when Peter grabbed ahold of his wrists and yanked him to his feet.   
Their mouths met, Peter keeping ahold of Stiles' wrists. Stiles kissed back, taking a small step closer so their chests were touching. Peter pulled back, looking down at Stiles with a smirk. Stiles scowled.   
"Shut up," he grumbled again. Peter's hands moved from his wrists to Stiles' jaw, still smirking. Stiles nearly stamped his foot like a petulant toddler as he rolled his eyes.   
Peter leaned forward again, but didn't kiss him. He was still smirking, his breath fanning over Stiles' mouth as he angled his head to the side.   
Stiles waited. He knew what Peter was doing. He'd seen Hitched. He knew the game. But Stiles surprised himself when he leaned in the last couple centimeters to connect their lips.   
His lips barely brushed Peter's, but it was enough of a concent to get Peter moving. He pushed forward, their mouths pressing together. Stiles found himself kissing back just as harshly as Peter was.   
Peter pulled away, snatching Stiles by the wrists again before tugging Stiles to the tent. Stiles was surprised he wasn't freaking out about what Peter obviously wanted to do. But he felt almost -almost- like he wanted it.   
Peter pulled Stiles to stand in front of him, but continued walking forward. Stiles stumbled before falling onto the bed of furs. Peter crawled up his body, attacking his mouth as his hands shoved Stiles' tunic up under his arms.   
Stiles lifted his arms, lifting himself off the bed enough for Peter to pull the tunic off. The kiss was broken for the seconds it took for the tunic to clear his head. Stiles felt himself react to Peter's touch in a completely different way than before.   
He continued to surprise himself when his hands -without his consent- made their ways up Peter's stomach under his shirt.   
Peter growled low in an almost purr, moving his lips from Stiles' mouth to his chest. Stiles let out a little noise, feeling dull teeth biting at the skin of his chest.   
Peter pulled his pants down before kicking off his own, and Stiles let out a breath when Peter grinded their hips together.   
"I love the little sounds you make," Peter growled, rolling his hips forward again. Stiles was only half hard a couple seconds ago, but now there was no question about it.   
Peter hitched up one of his legs, the bend at his knee resting on his upper arm. Stiles let out a long moan when he felt Peter's hand cup his balls, a finger pressing into the underside.   
Peter shifted, leaning forward to connect their lips again and forcing Stiles' leg to bend more, nearly folding him in half. He had to bend his other leg to keep from straining the muscle in his thigh.   
He let out a strained whine when Peter pressed into his asshole. He thrusted in, pulled back, and thrusted in further, forcing whines and moans from Stiles as he was forced to take Peter in dry.   
Stiles wasn't a virgin by any means, even before Peter. But the guys before him had been thinner, and they'd always prepped him, and used plenty of lube. Peter was not only close to seven inches, but he was thick too, and there was no prepping involved and never any lube. Stiles was forced to accommodate. Peter pushed in further, bottoming out and forcing a ragged grunting breath from Stiles, his head dropping onto the fur.   
Peter held himself up with one hand, while the other tugged gently at Stiles' cock.   
"Hnnn‐ hah-" Stiles rolled his head to the side when Peter pulled back and thrusted in, finding his prostate a lot quicker than last time. "Je-jesus!"  
Peter smirked proudly above him, thrusting in again and again, and fisting Stiles more firmly, his hand speeding up to match the thrusts.   
Stiles felt a pressure building in his belly, and Peter must've felt it too, because he suddenly pulled back, snaking his arms around Stiles' lower back and forcing him to sit up, impaling himself on Peter's dick.   
"That's it," Peter growled, thrusting up into Stiles. One arm was wrapped around his back, holding him up, while Peter used the other hand to jerk Stiles off.   
Stiles brought his arms up, grabbing Peter's shoulders, then hooking an arm around his neck when Peter thrusted harder. "Cum for me," Peter demanded in a low growl. Stiles let out a yelp at a particularly tough thrust up, nearly sending Stiles off his lap, and sending him that much closer to the edge.   
He was so close, he felt his limbs tense, his stomach rolling with a need to release. The noises falling from his lips got higher in pitch, breathier and Peter tightened his hold on him, burying his face into thr crook of Stiles' neck.   
Stiles' toes curled, his eyes pinching shut as Peter swiped his thumb over Stiles' head. Jesus Christ.   
He felt Peter's teeth graze at his neck, felt the sharp points of his k-9s. "P-Peter," he whined. He was too close, he was deliriously teetering on the edge.   
'I'm the alpha's mate. If you hurt me you wont make it to the door.'  
The memory flashed through Stiles' mind just before he let out a loud moan, cumming hard between their chests. In the same moment, Peter bit down, breaking the skin.   
"Fu-fuck," Stiles gasped out, still riding out his orgasm and feeling the pain in his neck. He didn't realize Peter had cum until he was pulling out of Stiles and he felt something dripping from his hole.   
Stiles felt his eyelids drop, his body going limp, and Peter held him tightly, licking the blood from the bite and keeping Stiles from falling backwards off his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo...........  
> I kind of like this chapter a lot....  
> I have no idea why 🤔😂   
> Tell me what you think!


	22. Chapter 22

Stiles woke up with a start, his breath catching on a cry as he jolted into a sitting position.   
Stiles felt Peter sit up, an arm curling around his shoulders to keep Stiles from bolting out of the bed.   
"It was just a nightmare," Peter said softly. Stiles winced, sucking in another breath before looking down. His eyes widened when he saw claws at the end of his fingers.   
"Jesus Christ," he gasped out, flicking his hands back and forth to get them to go away.   
"Stiles," Peter sighed, sounding put upon so early in the morning. Stiles scrambled to his feet, heart rate rising.   
"You bit me!" He said, spinning around to face Peter with all his naked glory. His clawed hand slapped against the skin where he knew the bite had been, feeling nothing but the smooth skin.   
His breathing got worse. "Oh, my God."  
"Stiles, calm down."  
"Calm down?" Stiles blinked at him as Peter got to his feet, also very naked. "I-I just- I'm- you bit me!"  
"If you don't calm down, you're going to lose control," Peter said, moving to stand in front of Stiles. "And I really dont want to patch up the tent this early in the morning."  
Stiles blinked. Right. He had done this with Scott. Elevated heart rates lead to ginormous freak outs. He sucked in a breath, pinching his eyes shut. Calm down. Calm down. It's not that big a deal. So what? He's not human anymore. That was fairly low on the shit Stiles had to deal with. He could deal with this. He just needed to focus on calming down. Like he taught Scott do to.   
Peter ran his hands up Stiles' arms, reaching his shoulders before guiding him into Peter's bare chest.   
"There you go," he praised. Stiles stepped into his hold, his nose pressing into Peter's collar bone. He instantly felt himself relax when he breathed in a strong heady scent. It smelled like earth, and something Stiles had smelled before. It was Peter, but the smell was so much stronger now. He curled his arms around Peter's waist, burying his nose into the scent to try and calm down.   
"That's it, Sionnach Donn," Peter said softly, running his hands up and down Stiles' back. Stiles felt his claws retract, the feeling slightly alarming. It felt strange. Even stranger when he realized something had been in his mouth, but was retracting as well. He had fangs.  
Dont freak out, he reminded himself, pulling Peter closer. Once he was calmed enough, he pulled back and ran a hand through his hair, going for a brisk pace in the tent as he thought. Peter watched with a raised eyebrow.   
"I accepted you as my mate," Stiles started, shooting a look at Peter as he spun around to walk to the other side of the tent. "Back at the shop, you heard."  
Peter only nodded. Stiles trudged on. Then he stopped and spun to Peter.   
"Are they gone?" He demanded, eyes widening a bit and heart rate picking up just a little. He didn't need to elaborate -he'd asked that question so many times since meeting him.   
"They're still there," Peter confirmed with a nod. Stiles sagged a bit, then went back to pacing.   
"So, so what now?" Stiles asked, pausing again. "Do I bite you?"  
Stiles had no idea how this mating thing went! All he knew was what Derek had told him, which wasn't much! He knew first came the claim, then the acceptance, which lead to the mate bite that somehow linked the two werewolves together forever. Stiles didn't think it was as simple as that, Derek had a way of simplifying things to a gross degree.   
"If you want to."  
Stiles let out a whine at that -an animalistic whine. The kind of whine he'd heard Scott make. His eyes widened and he slapped a hand over his mouth, hating how turned on that made him. Peter smirked, sitting on the bed of fur. "Come here," he hummed.   
Stiles rushed over, into Peter's hands and letting him pull Stiles onto his lap. Once there, Peter connected their mouths, fingers digging into the soft skin of Stiles' ass and rutting up against him. Stiles let out a little moan, Peter swallowing the sound.   
Everything was heightened -touch, sight, taste, hearing, scent. He could fucking smell arousal! He could smell himself and Peter's excitement, which only made it worse in the best way possible.   
Stiles pulled away, sucking in a breath and letting out a growl. It was high pitched -not low like Scott's or Derek's or even Peter's but definitely not as high pitched as say, Lydia's dog, Prada.   
"I can smell everything," he said, not sure how to feel about it but definitely more than overwhelmed.   
"You'll learn to tune it out," Peter said, nodding at Stiles.   
"I know," Stiles huffed. "I trained Scott, but I didn't know it was this strong."   
Peter just smiled. "A human training a werewolf?"  
Stiles shrugged, waving a hand back and forth dismissively. "We were on our own, Derek wasn't an alpha then, and he sucked at teaching Scott anything so I had to do everything myself."  
Peter shifted so Stiles was on his back, Peter above him on his hands and knees.   
"About the biting," Peter drawled. Stiles blinked, eyes widening a bit and a whine falling from his lips. Peter smirked, dropping down to catch Stiles' lips in his.   
Stiles kissed back, hands raising to curl against his neck, thumbs pressing into Peter's jaw.   
Peter pulled back, pulling a growl from Stiles in the process. He wanted to kiss him more -something that he shouldn't feel, but does.   
Peter growled right back at him, eliciting goosebumps across Stiles' flesh. The urge to exposed his neck was almost too strong to resist, but he managed as Peter moved down his body.   
"That- that works a lot better now," he grunts, feeling Peter's teeth graze at the spot just under his belly button. Peter smirked, licking at his happy trail and making Stiles shutter.   
Peter chuckled, mouthing around Stiles' cock and making him squirm.   
"Hold still, Sionnach Donn," Peter murmured, taking Stiles in his hand at the base and making Stiles moan. Stiles closed his eyes, his chin tilting up while Peter stroked the under side of his cock with his thumb, not moving the rest of his hand.   
"What- what does that mean?" Stiles grunted out. Peter continued to rub his thumb into Stiles. "I know donn means brown-" he let out another moan when Peter's hand moved to the head, swiping at the pre-cum at the top. "Wh-what is shoe-luck?"  
Peter smirked against his skin.   
"Sionnach," Peter corrected. Stiles let out a whiny noise when he felt Peter's tongue press to his head. "It means brown haired fox."  
Stiles didn't have time to focus on what Peter had said when suddenly Stiles' dick was in his mouth. Stiles groaned, feeling the wet warmth of his mouth press against what Peter fit in.   
"Jesus Christ!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sionnach is pronounced like shu-luch (best way I know how to sound it out)  
> Any who! I hope you like the new chapter! I'm going on a long weekend vacation that'll last five days. I need to reconnect with nature and detoxify from all the negativity going on with life. I wont have any wifi because I'll be in the middle of nowhere by a lake with nothing but a tent and enough food for the time spent there! But that means I'll hsve time to write more for my stories!   
> When I get back I'll post double just for you guys!  
> But yeah, I definitely need this, I've not been able to sit with nature and just be for a while.   
> Anyways I love y'all bunches and I'll see you in five days! Who am I kidding I'll probably find some way to post while I'm in the middle of nowhere 😂


	23. Chapter 23

Stiles came with a growling shout, back arching off the bed and nails turning into claws as Peter continued to suck him through his orgasm. He dropped back down into the fur, chest heaving.   
Peter pulled back and moved up Stiles' body, pressing open mouthed kisses to his torso before reaching his neck. Stiles was shocked when Peter paused there, blue eyes looking at Stiles in a silent question. It made Stiles' chest lurch a little. Since when did Peter ask for permission?   
Stiles lifted his chin ever so slightly, breathing coming out harsh, like he'd just run a marathon. Why did this feel ten times more intimate than Peter sucking his cock?  
Peter grinned and slowly ducked down, nosing at the skin of his throat. Stiles' heart beat skyrockets, and he turns his head a little more to the side when Peter presses his mouth to the skin over his jugular. This feels way different from the times Peter did that while he was human. It had to be a werewolf thing -which Stiles knew before, but now he was actually experiencing it.   
Stiles' mouth opened in a soft breath when Peter's tongue pressed to his pulse point.   
He blinked once, then twice, mind going a mile a minute.   
"Wait," he says, pushing Peter a little. Peter complied, looking down at Stiles with a cocked eyebrow.   
"Why'd you call me Sionnach Donn?"  
"Because you're a werefox, not a werewolf," Peter hums, his fingers playing with Stiles' hair. "And you have brown hair."  
Stiles rolls his eyes. "You named your horse Brown Horse, and you nicknamed me Brown Fox?"  
Peter raised an eyebrow, challenging Stiles silently, but Stiles only scoffed with a roll of his eyes and a slight upturn of his mouth.   
"I could always call you something else," Peter suggests, lowering himself so he's laying fully on Stiles, arms bent around Stiles' head so the two were practically nose to nose. Stiles didn't actually mind the close proximity.   
Stiles finds himself shaking his head. He liked the name, though he frowns a bit.   
"Aren't werefoxes super rare?" He asks. In the three years he's been in the supernatural world, he'd never met one -though he read about them in the beastiary.   
"They're rarer than Kanimas," Peter nodded, leaning down to kiss Stiles again. He looks proud about it. Stiles can't help but breathe out a long sigh.   
"What does that mean?" He asks. "I only know how to deal with werewolves. What if werefoxes are completely different? Do I need a pack like you or do I need a master? Do I need-"  
"Stiles," Peter interrupts. Stiles clamps his mouth shut, realizing he was getting a little carried away. Peter looks down at him in amusement. "Do you always do that?"  
"Do what?" Stiles breathes.   
"Work yourself up into a panic," he elaborated. "It looks like it'd be exhausting."  
"It is," Stiles huffs, sagging under Peter and taking a slow breath. "I've been known to freak out a little, sometimes." Sometimes was an understatement. The whole pack paid attention to his chemo signals due to the fact that Stiles had a tendency to get worked up and anxious about almost everything.   
Peter only shakes his head, leaning down to kiss Stiles again. Stiles kisses him back, greatful for the small distraction.   
The small distraction turns into a big one when Peter rolls his hips forward, eliciting a whine from Stiles. Peter eats it up, rutting against Stiles again.   
Stiles moved his arms up, palms skating up from his lower back to his shoulder blades. Peter growls low, nipping at the skin of Stiles' jaw.   
"So," Peter hums, lips brushing against the shell of Stiles' ear and making him shudder. "About that biting thing."  
Stiles let's out a noise, his body alighting with the thought. Peter chuckled, which grew into a laugh when Stiles started shoving at his shoulder, wanting to get Peter on his back.   
"Peter," he growled. Peter let himself be pushed to the side, rolling to his back. Stiles scrambled up, straddling Peter's stomach and smashing their mouths together.   
Peter's hands found Stiles' knees, sliding them up to his hips, then to his waist. Stiles had both hands on either side of Peter's face, nipping and licking his way into Peter's mouth. Even with Stiles' dominating position, Peter was in complete control of everything, his hands moving down to grip at Stiles' ass, dull nails digging into his skin.   
Stiles' own fingers ended with claws.   
Stiles pulled away a little, breaking the kiss. Peter opened his eyes, pulling up at Stiles, who was breathing a little harder than before. "So, you want me to bite you?" He asked.   
In response, Peter angled his head to reveal more of his neck, eyes never leaving Stiles'. Stiles froze a bit, hands on either side of Peter's shoulders, knees on either side of his waist.   
He looked down at the exposed neck, then up at Peter's eyes. Peter gave his ass an encouraging squeeze, and Stiles let out a whiny growl before slowly dropping his head to nuzzle where Peter's neck met his shoulder.   
He inhaled, his pupils blowing wide at the scent. It was so much stronger there. He pulled back in surprise, looking at Peter.   
"Go on," Peter nodded, his own eyes flashing red. Stiles ducked back down, nosing at his neck and pressing an open mouthed kiss to his shoulder.   
He continued to kiss and lick at Peter's neck, loving how Peter began to shift under him. Then Stiles felt his teeth sharpen. He ran his tongue over them, two on top and two on the bottom. Like Scott's, but much smaller, not as long or thick. It's strange, he can actually feel his eyes glow. He never thought about it when he watched from the outside, but it was almost a tingling in his eyes, and everything seemed to focus more.   
Stiles lapped at Peter's neck once more before he bit down, marveling in the feeling of Peter's skin breaking under the pressure of his jaw. It didn't freak him out like he thought. He tasted blood, felt Peter shudder under him, his chest lifting to meet with Stiles', claws digging into Stiles' skin. Stiles let out a soft whimper, rolling his hips forward before releasing Peter's neck. He watched as seconds later the bite mark disappeared, and he licked the blood from his skin. Seriously, Stiles couldn't handle blood, and now he was voluntarily ingesting it.   
He pulled away after a bit of prodding on Peter's end. Peter grabbed his jaw, angling Stiles face before flashing red eyes and leaning up to lick at Stiles' lips. Stiles opened his mouth, and Peter growled before shifting, pulling Stiles under him so he was on his stomach.   
Peter leaned over him, nipping at his ear lobe. "I want to familiarize myself with all your new noises," he drawls, breath hot against Stiles' ear. Stiles feels his cock twitch, trapped between his body and the fur bed and he let's out a whine, shifting under Peter, eyes flashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got back from vacation and the first thing I did when I got internet was post 😂 I wanted to post while I was gone but we were literally in the middle of nowhere and my data wouldnt even work!   
> Anyways! Peter has a biting kink? We thinks so?


	24. Chapter 24

Stiles didn't pay much attention to the rest of the pack. He didn't want to. The pack was so much bigger than Stiles' old one, and were much older -not older in age, but they'd been a pack their whole lives, whereas Scott and them had only really thought themselves a pack in the last two years.   
Stiles didnt see a need to form a friendship with anyone in the pack, and when he had addressed this with Peter, he had told Stiles it was normal. Werefoxes were solitary creatures, who stuck with their own. Stiles knew real foxes stayed with their family, lived on their own, or started a new family. But fox families never grouped together to form a pack -not like wolves.   
And that's exactly how Stiles felt. He had a family -in 2017- and he had Peter. He didn't need anyone else.   
The day after being bit, Stiles found out the color of his eyes. It had happened when he stepped out of the tent, Peter going to grab the to of them lunch. He walked over to Capall Donn, scratching at his nose. He still wasn't comfortable around the big animal, but with this new strength, he didnt feel nearly as vulnerable next to it as he had before.   
"You finally accepted Peter as your mate?" Colin's voice called out in disgust. Stiles turned his head, shooking a glare his way.   
"You jealous he didn't choose you?" He growled, eyes flashing in challenge. Stiles was challenging by nature. He wasn't the type to submit or cower -even when he was terrified- and that didn't fade now that he was a werefox. In fact it got stronger.   
Colin didn't flash his eyes back, but he did curl his lip up into a snarl. "You didn't take long to snap," he scoffed. "How long has it been, twelve hours? You sure don't waste time."  
"What the fuck are you talking about, Colin?" Stiles snapped, a growl lacing his words. He stepped away from the horse and closer to Colin.   
Colin lifted a finger, pointing to his own eyes in an incredulous fashion that made Stiles want to rip his head off. He had to force himself to calm down a little. He had to worry about Hulking out now as apposed to just being mad.   
"You two maul a child last night to really bond as mates?"   
Stiles growled and stalked forward, ready to tear into Colin when a loud growl forced him to stop.   
Stiles turned his head to see Peter walking forward, both hands filled with plates. Stiles forced himself to take a calming breath, taking thr plates from Peter when offered.   
"Go wait in the tent," Peter said, looking down at Stiles with an eyebrow raised.   
"I didn't-" Stiles snapped.   
"Go," Peter interrupted, cutting Stiles off with an authoritative growl. Stiles growled back, but turned to the tent. He kept his eyes off Colin, knowing if he looked at him and saw his face he was gonna loose it.   
Once inside the tent, Stiles set the plates down and growled, pacing thr floor to try and calm himself down. He purposefully ignored thr voices outside of the tent, and didn't stop pacing when Peter walked in.   
"Why would you challenge me in front of pack?" Peter snapped. Stiles stopped, turning to face him.   
"What are you talking about?"  
"Back there," Peter growled. "In front of Colin, you challenged me when I told you to go into the tent."  
Stiles wanted to do a full body eye roll, but instead shot a hand out towards where Colin had been.   
"I didn't challenge you, I was fucking mad!" Stiles snapped, fangs biting into his gums. "That- that -waste of space only came over to start trouble, and you let him!"  
Peter growled at that, eyes flashing red, but Stiles stood his ground and growled right back. That made Peter even more mad, and he stalked forward, grabbing Stiles by his upper arms and gave him a good shake.   
"I'm your alpha-"  
"You're my mate!" Stiles interrupted, shoving at Peter's chest. "Which means you don't get to tell me what to do! I'm not your beta, we're equals."  
Stiles knows he's losing control, but he forces himself to stay relatively in control in order to get this across to Peter.   
"You fucking sent me to my room like a child," he continued, stepping towards Peter and poking him in the chest with a clawed finger. "You may be alpha, but I am not beneath you in this relationship, so fuck yes I challenged you when you decided to use your alpha-ness to get me to back off."  
Peter growled again, not at all happy with Stiles right now.   
"Am I your mate or your beta?" Stiles asked, arms crossing over his chest. It seemed to catch Peter off guard, because his furrowed brows seemed to soften, his mouth opening in a quick response before thinking better of it.   
"You're my mate," Peter growled.   
"Then don't treat me like a beta," Stiles growled back. "We are equals in this relationship, or this relationship is over."  
When Peter didn't say anything, Stiles sighed, forcing himself to calm down enough that his fangs dulled down, his claws turning into nails.   
"Okay," Peter said after a moment. Stiles blinked, not at all expecting that.   
"What?"  
Peter stepped forward, reaching for Stiles. Stiles let him uncross his arms, gripping their hands together as Peter stepped up so they were almost chest to chest.   
"We're equals," Peter agreed, locking eyes with Stiles. "If that's what you want."  
"I do," Stiles said, almost snapping, trying to keep the scowl on his face. Peter nodded again, and leaned forward to press their lips together. It was a chaste kiss, but it was enough to wipe the scowl from Stiles' features.   
"Then we are," Peter nodded, letting go of one of Stiles' hands in order to wrap an arm around his waist and pull Stiles closer. Stiles easily fits against his chest, and he buries his nose in Peter's neck.   
"I'm not some pushover you can control," Stiles says, his voice soft, no more bite behind his words. "I don't do submission."  
Peter let out the smallest chuckle, budying his face in Stiles' neck.   
"I'm well aware," Peter hums. Stiles curls his arms around Peter's waist, nuzzling a little.   
"Good. Then we're going to work out just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a double post for today so here's a second one right before I go to bed!   
> I honestly missed your guys' comments while I was gone so pretty please fix me up some good ones???  
> How are you guys liking Peter's character development? Is he winning any hearts yet?


	25. Chapter 25

The week after the bite wasn't much different than it had been -except Stiles was stronger and had a harder time keeping his chill. That and Stiles actually enjoyed having sex with Peter. He liked Peter's company, and he wondered if it was because of the shared biting, or if Stiles genuinely wanted to be with Peter.   
Stiles noticed a day ago, that Peter was getting tense. It wasn't until today that Stiles found out why.   
"Why do you have to?" Stiles growled, arms folded over his chest like a pouting child. "They were here first."  
Peter rolled his eyes, dressed in his furs and weapons as he stepped up to Stiles, placing his hands on Stiles' elbows.   
"I told you," he sighed. "I want my pack to have a good home, and this land is the perfect place for them."  
Stiles knew that. This place was Beacon Hills! But Stiles hated that Peter either ran people out of their homes or killed them. It wasn't surprising -especially since Stiles saw first hand how murderous Peter could get- but Stiles still didnt like it.  
"Why can't you just let them stay and build your pack land around them?"  
"That's not how this works," Peter said, kissing Stiles on the lips. "If I want to keep this land I have to prove I deserve this land. If I come in soft, other packs will try to snatch it from under me."  
Stiles grunted, rolling his eyes. He knew this. He just really hated it. Whoever Peter and his male pack mates were going to throw out probably lived there for their whole lives, and Peter was just going to unturn their whole lives and leave them homeless.   
"But-"  
"Stiles," Peter warned. Stiles huffed, biting his tongue. He would leave whether Stiles argued with him or not. "I'll be back in a couple days."  
Stiles didn't say anything, just sighed. Peter leaned down to kiss him, but Stiles turned his head, so his lips pressed against Stiles' cheek instead. He had to let Peter know how much he didn't like this.   
Peter sighed before walking out of the tent. Stiles sighed too, running a hand through his hair. Stiles knew. He did. He read the story, he shouldn't be this upset. But it's one thing to read about someone taking Beacon Hills by force, founding it on the lives of it's original settlers, and another thing to be there, and know the person who's doing it.   
Stiles groaned, spinning around and stomping out of the tent. Peter was already saddled on his horse, and he looked down in question as Stiles walked right up to Capall Donn and grabbed the reins.   
"Don't kill them," he says. He wont say it was a plea, more of a demand. "Please, if you can help it."  
Peter gives a small nod. "I wont."  
Stiles didn't let the reins go, but stepped closer to Peter's knee. Peter leaned down, meeting Stiles on his tip toes in a kiss. Stiles places a hand on the back of Peter's neck, and pulls away, not allowing Peter to straighten in his saddle.   
"You better come back," Stiles frowns. "I'm not staying here if you die."  
Peter grins at that, pecking Stiles' lips again before Stiles let's his neck go and he straightens in his horse.   
"Three days," Peter promises. Stiles nods and lets the reins go. Peter kicks the horse into a trot to meet up with the other males. Stiles notes Colin isnt with them, and frowns. He wasn't fully in control with himself right now -though he was so much better than Scott had been- and dealing with Colin for three days did not sit well with him.   
Stiles stayed outside until he couldnt hear the hooves of the horses, and then went inside the tent. There was no point in joining the pack, he was a solitary creature now, and had no desire to make friends with his new pack mates.   
*-*  
Stiles comes out for dinner. He grabs a bowl, and ladles out some stew before turning to head back to the tent.   
"Stiles, right?"   
Stiles pauses and turns to look at the woman. It was the same woman who had stopped Colin from pumbling Stiles into the ground nearly two months ago. Stiles is briefly shocked by how long he'd been here. Close to five months.   
"Yeah," Stiles hums. She smiles.   
"I'm Ottelia," she greets. "Will you sit?"  
Stiles eyes the tent, then her, before slowly moving to sit across from her and a younger girl.   
"This is Maryett," Ottelia introduces. The younger girl looks about thirteen or so. Stiles gives her a smile in greeting, which she returns a little shyly.   
"We wanted to properly greet you," Ottelia said once Stiles was seated comfortably. "Now that you've accepted Peter as your mate."  
Stiles brings the bowl of stew to his lips and takes a sip. He only smiles at her over the rim of his bowl, because really, what could he say?  
"Colin couldn't help but notice your eyes-"  
"Are blue?" Stiles interrupted. He really should punch that guy in the mouth. Or better yet, bite him. He could pull a Derek and rip Colin's throat out with his teeth. Now he knows why Derek used that threat so often, it sounded really therapeutic.   
Ottelia just gave a small smile, maybe a hint of sympathy in there, but Stiles didn't pay attention to it.   
"Yes," she says. "No one here will judge you for it, least of all Colin. But-"  
"I'm sorry," Stiles says, even though he's not really sorry. "But Colin and I aren't exactly acquaintances, and the color of my eyes isn't anyone's business but my own." And Peter's, though he doesnt say that last part out loud.   
"Understandable," Ottelia says with a smile. Stiles eyes her, waiting for her to turn around and hit him with something else, but she only reaches behind her, for the little bag. She sets it on her lap before fishing out a book.   
"We know you're not a wolf like us," she says, running her hand over the cover like she's cleaning off dust. "So I found this book for you. Maybe it'll help you figure out what you are."  
But Stiles knows what he is. He takes the offered book anyways. Its title-less, and the dark blue leather looks old and well used.   
"Thank you," he says anyway, and sets the book down by his lap. The rest of lunch goes by smoothly, with Ottelia talking about the pack, naming people and their jobs as they pass and Maryett softly adding little bits about their children if they had any.   
After lunch, Stiles took the book back to his tent, settling himself on the bed and opening the book to the table of contents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, trying to get back into the rhythm of things! Tell me what you think! I miss my readers so much 😭


	26. Chapter 26

Stiles didn't bother leaving the tent for dinner. The book Ottelia had given him was like the beastiary back home, filled with supernatural creatures that even their own book didnt have -as well as many that had gone extinct due to hunters.   
Werefoxes were in this book, and after spending some time looking over the ones he didn't know about, he skipped to the back of the book where the Ws started, and flicked through them until he hit werefoxes. 

Werefoxes -known as Children of the Moon- can be born or created by an alpha werewolf's bite.   
Werefoxes, as well as Werejaguars (p. 678) and Werecoyotes (p. 669) belong to the same supernatural class as Werewolves (p. 692), though they are different in many ways.   
Werefoxes are known for their trickster and cunning nature (see Kitsune) and are far more docile than their lupine counterparts (see Werewolf).  
Werefoxes are mostly harmless, and rely on their cunning. They're tricksters by nature, as well as mischief makers, but are typically not swayed towards physical violence.  
Werefoxes are charming and sly as they are curious. They prefer to blend into their small communities, and keep their true form a secret.   
Werefoxes -like their lupine counterparts- have enhanced senses, as well as enhanced strength.   
Werefoxes don't have the same hierarchy that Werewolves do, they don't need a pack or an alpha to survive.  
Like Werecoyotes and Werejaguars, Werefoxes only have two eye colors when shifted. Orange and Blue.   
Weaknesses include aconite and mistletoe. Electricity will also weaken them. Their healing is slower than that of their cousin species, meaning more damage takes longer for them to heal, and leaves them vulnerable to attack. 

Stiles grunts, setting the book down. He's basically a watered down werewolf. He knew he wasn't as strong as Kate or Malia, definitely not strong enough to survive a fight with a werewolf, but he was stronger than your average human.   
His eyes bugged him. He had been so mad that Colin had pointed them out instead of Peter, and Stiles knew that was where most of his anger came from during their argument the week prior. He wondered what shade of orange his eyes would've been if the Nogitsune hadn't killed Allison. Or those people in the hospital. Or anyone else.   
*-*  
Stiles is so beyond bored he actually leaves his tent the following afternoon to explore the woods.   
He takes one of Peter's daggers, just in case, and lopes off into the woods behind the tent. He doesn't know where he's going, only that he wants to stretch his legs. He walked the preserve all the time when he got too restless, and even though these woods are 300 years younger than the woods he's used to, it's still the same woods. Stiles isn't worried about getting lost either, he can smell the pack behind him. He'll keep around the tents just in case.   
He's walking down a fallen tree with the balance of a cat -something human Stiles never had- and jumps down onto almost silent feet, before continuing his walk deeper into the woods.   
He finds a stream and takes his shoes off, rolling his pant legs up before stepping into the stream. It's getting colder, but the freezing water doesn't bother him as it would have when he was human.   
He finds a couple rocks and skips them as best he can in the flowing water.   
After the sun started to set, Stiles decided it was best to go back. He would probably come back tomorrow anyway, and then Peter would be back to fill his time.   
He was just coming to the fallen tree when he smelled something that gave him pause. Male, werewolf. It wasn't Colin -he knew his scent fairly well- but he couldn't tell if it was someone from the Hale pack or not. They were close enough.   
Stiles made his way to the camp, still frowning as he caught whiffs of the scent. It almost smelled like whoever it was was trying to cover their scent.   
"Everything okay?"   
Stiles turned to see Maryett standing by his tent, arms crossed over her chest. Stiles caught the scent again.   
"Do you smell that?" Stiles asked, lifting his nose further. The scent came and went with the wind, and it never lingered long enough for Stiles to get a good enough scent to tell where it was coming from.   
Maryett followed, sniffing and frowning. Then she nodded. "What is it?"  
"Don't know," Stiles said. "Do they smell like pack?"  
"No," Maryett's eyes widen a little. "We gotta tell Ottelia."  
She takes off before Stiles can reply. He watches her run towards the bundle of tents, and disappears.   
Stiles keeps his nose alert. He's not ignorant to battle strategy -the best time to attack an enemy is to wait for their most vulnerable. And Stiles and Colin were the only two males in the camp. Not that the female wolves couldn't protect themselves -Cora, Erica and Malia made sure Stiles knew they could definitely take care of themselves- but this was 1764, and sexism was a big thing.   
He made his way into the tent, grabbing a second dagger in case.   
The second he stepped out from the tent, a swarm of werewolves stepped out from the safety of the woods. Stiles let out a growl, eyes flashing and fangs elongating.   
He noted a couple of the women had lead the children to the woods oposite. He saw Maryett running with a little boy and disappearing into the woods.   
Stiles didn't have to fight for this pack. He wasn't pack -pack adjacent at best- but he was running across the small stretch between his tent and the rest of them.   
Ottelia was there, standing beside Colin. Stiles stopped at her other side, ignoring Colin and looking at Ottelia.   
Everything happened too fast for Stiles to fully follow.   
One second it was a stand off, the next the other pack was howling a war cry and charging, and then the Hale pack was attacking back.   
Stiles wasn't the best fighter, but he fought badies with his pack for three years before being sucked through time, and Peter had taught him a little, and he was a werefox now, so he was... well, better than before.   
It didn't mean he escaped any blows with the sword, but at least now it healed relatively quickly.   
Stiles ran from the fight when he saw three wolves running towards where the children had escaped from, and followed.   
He was surprisingly fast now too, and it was easy to catch up to the three wolves and tackle one to the ground with a loud growl. The two rolled, and Stiles clawed at any bit of wolf he could get to, a gekkering noise leaving his throat.   
The wolf howled and growled back, slicing into his skin. The other two jumped in, grabbing at Stiles' arms and pinning him to the forest floor.   
"What do we have here?" The werewolf on top of him sneered. His wounds were already stitching themselves back together. Stiles snapped his jaw at the werewolf, gekkering and growling and thrashing under the three wolves.   
"You smell like alpha," he grinned.   
"Fuck off," Stiles growled, pulling at his arms.   
"You must be the alpha's new toy we've heard so much about," the one on his right arm chuckled. "You're just the thing we're looking for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on another steter Fox Stiles book! Idk when I'm gonna post it yet, because I wrote 4 chapters and decided I didnt like it and I'm back down to 1 chapter with a completely different plot!   
> I'm also writing for the ending of Ready to Comply, and I want it finished soon so I dont feel bad 😂  
> Anywho would you guys read this new book? 
> 
> It's about werefoxes going extinct, humans sticking their noses where they dont belong and Peter is a good guy! Stiles is a cunning prankster little shit who pushes buttons and all that good stuff! They all turn into full animals instead of just beta shifts, and the hales are all still alive! Itll be chalked full of porn and that good stuff with an abduction sprinkled in and a little bit of non-con with a lot of steter feelings and arguments and make up sex!


	27. Chapter 27

Stiles woke up with a groan. His head throbbed as he blinked his eyes open, the thick stench of horse shit and sweat clung to his nose and made him sick.   
"He's awake."  
Stiles turned his head, spotting one of the wolves who had held him down. He didn't know which one knocked him in the head, but he leveled this one with a snarl.   
"He's feisty," a second voice chuckled. Stiles managed to turn his head in time for the second wolf to grab his tunic and pull him off his back. Stiles growled, noting his hands were bound behind him. "And a fox."  
This revelation turned the other wolf's scent rank with what Stiles could only imagine was excitement and opportunity. Stiles scrunched his nose, then grunted when the second wolf dropped Stiles back onto the ground.   
"Pretty rare catch," werewolf one said, grinning. He had a rat face, his jaw ending in a point, and his eyes just a little too close together. Werewolf two had a crooked nose and steely blue eyes that was almost painful to look at. "I say we sell him to the highest bidder."  
Stiles growled low at that, though it was mostly out of fear that they actually would. Stiles was rare now. He had to worry about hunters, and about people finding out he was a fox -though any supernatural with a nose would easily tell.   
Broken Nose looks down at Stiles, then over to Rat Face and shook his head, a slow grin taking over his face.   
"No, we're gonna send that alpha a message."  
Stiles definitely didn't like that. Sending messages usually meant blood and broken bones and on some occasions, death. Stiles had been beaten by Gerard to send a message. Laura was murdered by Peter to send a message. Erica and Boyd were murdered to send a message. Allison was killed -by Stiles, he winces- to send a message.   
Message sending only ended bad for the deliverer- and Stiles, not for the first time, was that deliverer.   
"I don't think your message is going to go over the way you think it will," Stiles says, tugging st thr binding around his wrists. He was laying on them, his arms pinned painfully underneath.   
"Oh, I think it will," Broken Nose grinned. "This is our territory, and we're not going to sit back and let some wet-behind-the-ears pup of an alpha stake claim."  
Stiles wanted to laugh at that -seriously if any alpha was wet-behind-the-ears it was definitely Scott. Peter? He was anything but. Instead, Stiles said, "I think you should really reconsider. For your own well being." And mine, he thought silently. It only made Broken Nose's grin widen, and now Rat Face was feeding off his energy, and was bouncing a little in his seat.   
Stiles really wished he could do something besides talk his way out of shit. That's all he ever did. Even with these new abilities, he was still the weakest one in the room!   
Or maybe it was a personality thing. Kate Argent was unhinged, and got more ruthless when she turned. Malia had been a coyote for 8 years, so maybe Stiles was just more docile than the average werefox?   
No, if this was about experiences, Stiles had enough experience with pain to have been just as ruthless. He had a Nogitsune living in his brain for months! No, Stiles was still just incredibly weak, even as a werefox.   
"I think we're gonna rough you up a bit," Broken Nose smirked, kneeling down over Stiles, hands on his knees. "Break a few bones, play with some blood, maybe even claim you ourselves."  
That made Stiles freeze, eyes widening just a fraction. Rat Face was practically vibrating in excitement at the thought.   
"Anything to get our point across, right, little fox?"   
Stiles didn't have time to respond with a witty come back before Broken Nose plunged claws deep into Stiles' chest, ripping a loud growling shout from Stiles. Rat Face chuckled, jumping from his spot and crouching beside Stiles just as Broken Nose pulled his hand out of Stiles.   
"Oh, come now," Rat Face grinned, running a claw across Stiles' hairline. "You can scream louder than that."  
*-*  
Stiles hurt all over. His wounds were healing, but Broken Nose and Rat Face just reopened them, and Stiles didn't realize how exhausting it was to heal over and over again like he was.   
The irony tang of his blood clogged his nose, made it hard to breathe.   
Stiles made a promise never to poke fun at Derek when the wolf came stumbling home after a fight. If he ever saw Derek again.   
Stiles coughed up a bit of bloody spit, grunting a bit.   
He smelled the arousal through his blood, and it made Stiles' eyes flash. He rolled over so he was no longer on his stomach, wincing at the pain. He noted Rat Face was actually palming himself through his pants. It made Stiles want to vomit.   
Broken Nose tisked in disapproval at Stiles, stepping forward. "We can't have that now, can we?"  
Because Stiles was healing again. Stiles let out a wail of pain when claws dug into his stomach. He felt his fingers move around inside his stomach, and screamed.   
Broken Nose chuckled, and Stiles heard Rat Face moan.   
Stiles felt tears in his eyes as he struggled to suck in a breath, but any time Stiles felt the slightest bit of give, Broken Nose would move his hand.   
He was on the verge of passing out when Broken Nose pulled his hand out, the sickeningly wet suction noise making Stiles cry out. He had no time to recover before hands grabbed his shoulder and yanked.   
Another loud scream was ripped from Stiles' mouth, but Broken Nose just continued, digging claws into the now broken shoulder joint.   
"There you go, little fox," Broken Nose praised, voice soft. Stiles sobbed, head thrown back to try and suck in air. His stomach wasn't healing fast enough. Stiles wasn't ignorant to the many ways to kill a wolf, and he knew those ways would work on him as well. Blood loss was a thing, and not being able to heal would kill anything.   
Broken Nose brought both hands to Stiles' shoulders. Stiles felt the claws dig into the skin above his collar bones, and he let out a ragged, choked out shout when he dug his fingers in deeper and pulled his hands down Stiles' front, cutting through shirt and skin until he reached Stiles' stomach.   
Blood pooled around Stiles as he continued to sob in pain, feeling his body trying to heal itself.   
And then Rat Face was next to him, his hand in his pants, while his other hand dipped into the clawed flesh of Stiles' chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont know how I feel about this chapter. Or the next one. I might re write the next chapter so if it takes me a second to post it that's why!


	28. Chapter 28

Stiles was so tired, so exhausted, that his body had stopped healing. The long jagged lines running down his front were still bleeding, his body trying to heal him.   
He gasped on every breath, as Broken Nose dug clawed fingers into his sides, fitting his fingers between Stiles' ribs in the most painful way. But all Stiles could do was whimper and cry, his lungs too tired to allow much more.   
Rat Face had fucking orgasmed. His spunk was too over powering where it had landed by Stiles' bound arm.   
Stiles felt Broken Nose's fingers tickle painfully at his lungs and gave a weak shout, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His mouth hung open in a pain filled cry, and then fingers pressed into his tongue.   
Stiles gagged, tasting the cum and dirt spill onto his tongue. He bit down hard enough to draw blood, but a little shift from Broken Nose had Stiles releasing Rat Face's fingers in a cry.   
Stiles didn't hear what Rat Face said, and he turned his head, ready to spit the cum out when a hand clamped down on his jaw, fingers slick with blood.   
"I don't think so," Rat Face tutted. Stiles couldn't breathe. He sobbed into Rat Face's hand as Broken Nose yanked his fingers free.   
Stiles gasped through his nose, his vision growing spotty. He gritted his teeth, cum and blood still heavy on his tongue as he collected his strength. Just as Broken Nose was going in, Stiles jutted his knee up, landing a blow to his spine and sending him hurtling over Stiles head and into Rat Face.   
He rolled to his stomach and jumped to his feet, spitting before sending a heel into Rat Face's nose. He took off into a sprint out of the barn, knowing Broken Nose was already clambering to his feet to chase after him.   
Stiles didn't pay any attention to his bound hands, knowing it would get him caught, so he used his new agility to weave his way through the woods, finding the hardest path and diving under fallen trees, scurrying under thorns and somehow jumping four foot stone walls with no hands.   
He heard the two wolves behind him cursing and shouting, falling behind, but Stiles kept going. His body burned as it tried to heal itself, and only when he could no longer hear the two werewolves behind him did he stop, dropping to his knees and breathing hard.   
He looked down at his chest, seeing the last bits of the long jagged flesh stitching itself together.   
Now, alone, Stiles worked on the bindings. He managed to get them over his ass, then pull his legs through so the knot was in front of him, and brought it to his mouth.   
It didnt take him long to get the ropes off, and he growled slowly as he got to his shaky legs. He had no idea where he was, and judging by the sky lighting up on the horizon, it was morning already and Stiles had no clue if the Hale pack had faired any better than he did.   
He smells water, and follows his nose to a lake. Beacon Lake. He knew where he was.   
He walked into the water, scrubbing at himself to get the blood from his skin. He pays extra attention to his mouth, getting the blood out before swishing water through his teeth.   
It wasn't until he was stepping out of the water that he heard a long howl, and his skin prickled with goosebumps. It had to be around eight in the morning. Stiles somehow knew it was Peter.   
He sloshed through the woods, heading in the direction of the call. He was so exhausted, weighed down by wet clothes. His shirt was ripped to shreds.   
Another howl filled the air, and Stiles wished he could call back. He knew enough about foxes to know the most canine thing they did was growl and bark. Stiles didn't know if barking would carry as far as howling, but he hoped Peter would keep calling him so he knew which way to go.   
A third howl rang through the early morning air, and Stiles stopped, arms curling around his chest. It sounded like the howl hadn't gotten any closer. He shook with the cold, trying desperately to find out how to call back.   
"Okay, Stiles," he grunted, hair dripping water down his face. "You can do this."  
He sucked in a breath and let out a shout. It was all human, but he hoped it worked. After a couple seconds of silence, Stiles started walking again.   
He knew if he kept going straight he'd reach the tent camp, but the camp was a two hour ride on horse, and Stiles was bare footed, sopping wet and on the verge of passing out from exhaustion.   
He's basically dragging his feet as the sun raises, and at some point, he has to stop. He drops onto his ass, thumping into a tree. He was so tired. He was just about to close his eyes when the sound of his name in the distance pulled him back to consciousness. He blinks and staggers to his feet, listening carefully.   
He's a couple feet away from a dirt road, so he walks over to it, seeing a horse quite a ways away. His heart lurches in his chest.   
"Peter," he calls, barely loud enough, but he makes his way down the road.   
Peter is faster on Capall Donn, and when he gets closer, Stiles notices he's still in his Viking gear. Swords, fur and all.   
Capall Donn is pulled to a stop and Peter jumps off the horse, running the short distance to Stiles and slamming into him.   
Stiles let's out a little noise, arms curling around Peter and burying his face in his neck.   
Peter inhales Stiles' scent, as if grounding himself, squeezing him tightly.   
Then he pulls away, his hands moving to Stiles' face to check him over, eyebrows furrowed in worry.   
"I'm okay," Stiles manages, clawing at Peter, wanting to be closer again. Peter let's out a relieved sound, pulling Stiles back into his chest.   
"Don't do that again," Peter growled lowly, teeth nipping at Stiles' exposed neck. Stiles just tightened his hold on Peter, nuzzling into his chest. "I thought you died."  
Stiles let's out a whimper, making Peter pull him even closer. "M'sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed it up! At first Peter was gonna be the one to rescue him, but I felt like Stiles needed to figure it out on his own! He's a badass werefox now and even as a human, he could take care of himself! He dont need no man to save him! So I wrote this chapter over!  
> Hope you like this over a rescue! Also, next chapter is gonna be fucking HEFTY. I'm talking double the length, lots of sex. Its gonna be good!


	29. Chapter 29

Stiles sits behind Peter on their ride back to camp, his arms wrapped around Peter's torso loosely, cheek resting on his shoulder. Any time Peter shifted in the saddle, Stiles' arms unconsciously tightened around him.   
"Did anyone get hurt?" Stiles asked after a couple minutes of riding.   
"No," Peter said softly. "The pack wasn't expecting them to fight back."  
"I tried to call to you," Stiles said softly a few moments later. Peter placed a hand on Stiles', squeezing lightly.   
"I know, I heard."  
"Good."  
Stiles let's himself be lulled to sleep by the steady swaying of the horse and Peter's breathing against his cheek.   
When he woke up, they were at the camp. Stiles lifted his head from Peter's shoulder, seeing the damage done. A few tents were ripped, or completely fallen over. The 'kitchen'-which was only metal poles in the ground to hold a cast iron Dutch oven over fire- had been toppled over, but nothing else seemed to be amiss.   
Since Stiles was in the back this time, he climbed off the horse first, skin and clothes still damp from the dip in the lake.   
"Stiles!"   
Stiles looks up just in time to see Maryett and Ottelia. The older woman was walking up slowly, reminding him of Allison in the way she smiled. Maryett on the other hand ran over, and crashed into Stiles just as Peter jumped off Capall Donn.   
"You're okay!" She cried, burying her face in Stiles' ruined shirt. She was practically nuzzling his navel with how shredded it was.   
"Of course," Stiles grinned, even though he was exhausted. Maryett pulled away, with Ottelia's guiding hand on her shoulder.   
"I saw those three wolves grab you," she said. "I tried to get you but they were too fast."  
"Its okay," Stiles said. He didn't know what else to say. He was okay. It wasn't like the basement with Gerard, where he had been let go. No, Stiles escaped. He did it himself, and he was okay.   
"Please tell me we at least got the land," Ottelia said, looking hopefully at Peter. Stiles glanced over at him too as the alpha tied Capall Donn to the tree.   
"We did," Peter confirmed.   
Stiles was glad that Ottelia ushered Maryett away after that, the two of them waving to Stiles, who managed a soft wave back.   
He huffed, shoulders sagging once they were gone, turning to Peter and curling up into his chest.   
"I want to sleep for the next seven days," he muttered against the fur on Peter's shoulder. Peter reaches down and grabs Stiles by the thighs, lifting him off his feet.   
Stiles easily clings to him as Peter walks towards their tent. Stiles' chin is still on Peter's shoulder, arms draped over his shoulder.   
He sees Colin scowling at him, and just as Peter steps into the tent, Stiles gives him the bird. Once inside, Peter drops Stiles to his feet and helps him out of his ruined clothes.   
"Are you going to sleep with me?" Stiles asks, stepping out of the pants to leave him naked.   
"Yes," Peter says, already pulling his own clothes off. Stiles nodded, and when Peter was completely undressed, let him pull Stiles to the bed, the tartan draped over the two of them.   
Stiles turned to face Peter, his head under Peter's chin and arms looping around his waist.   
Peter held him just as closely, their legs tangled together.   
"I'm glad you're okay," Peter said softly, lips pressing to Stiles' hair. Stiles was too tired to respond, but managed to kiss Peter's chest before falling asleep.   
*-*  
Stiles wakes up with a moan. There's a familiar pressure in his belly, and Stiles blinked his eyes open.   
"Oh, my God," he breathed, hands fisting the fur. He felt Peter's mouth on him, felt him smirk around Stiles' cock. Stiles had never woken up to a blow job, but man he wouldn't mind if Peter woke him up every day with his mouth.   
Peter's fingers bit into the skin at Stiles' hips, holding him down now that Stiles was awake.   
He let out soft breaths, feeling Peter hollow out his cheeks. Jesus Christ.   
And then Peter's hand moved to message his ballsack and Stiles' back arched off the furs, a groan pulled from his lips.   
It didn't take him long before he was cumming in Peter's mouth, and the guy took it, swallowing around Stiles.   
"F-fuck!"  
Peter let Stiles slip from his mouth, his cock softening on his belly as Stiles sucked in lungfuls of air. "Wh-what was that for?"  
Peter moved up, placing kisses up Stiles' naked torso, over his collar bones, under his ear, at his cheek before pressing his lips to Stiles'.  
"You're mine," Peter growled lowly, sounding almost like a purr. Stiles' skin prickled with goosebumps at that, and he gave off a very pathetic sound, arms curling around Peter's neck and forcing him down to meet Stiles' mouth. "No one can take you away."  
Stiles felt himself getting hard again just with his words, and he kisses him harder.   
Peter hooks an arm under Stiles' leg, lifting it to get more room, and Stiles places his hands on Peter's shoulders, stopping him.   
"Fingers," he gasps. "I want your fingers."  
Stiles grabs Peter's arm from around his leg, and brings his hand to Stiles' mouth.   
Peter let's out a growl when Stiles sucks two of his fingers inside, sucking on them and swirling his tongue around and between them before pulling them out and shoving Peter's hand down.   
"Put them in. Now, please put them in."  
Peter does as he's told, and Stiles let's out a whimper. He didn't know why he was acting like this -it wasn't like Peter didn't regularly fuck him. Maybe it was because of what had happened with Broken Nose and Rat Face, but Stiles was needy, he wanted Peter close.   
Peter's fingers worked into him, the man above watching with labored breath as Stiles just about fucked himself on Peter's fingers.   
And then Peter curled his digits and Stiles moaned, chest heaving and legs wrapping around Peter's waist.   
Stiles' mouth fell open, his head tilting back as Peter continued to explore him with the two fingers inside. He did a whole body jolt when Peter found his prostate, eliciting a rather ungodly noise from Stiles that had Peter ducking his head to bite at Stiles' exposed neck.   
"Can I put in another?" Peter growled against his throat, patting Stiles' prostate like he was scratching a cat's chin. It was humbling Stiles' mind and working him up into a sweat.   
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, yes, please-" Stiles cut himself off with a shudder, hands burying into Peter's hair.   
Three fingers felt fucking fantastic. Stiles chanted backwards with every curl of Peter's fingers, falling apart under him.   
It didn't take long before Stiles was cumming a second time -this time totally wrecking him. He groaned, body shaking with each pulse, and Peter continued to pet his insides through his orgasm. When Peter did pull his fingers out, Stiles whimpered, shifting a bit.   
"God, you're so hot," Peter growled, moving up Stiles so they could press their mouths together. Stiles kissed back languorously, limbs feeling far too heavy to move.   
Peter pulled back, mouthing at Stiles' jaw. "I'm not done," he said, making Stiles whimper again.   
Peter pulled back and grabbed Stiles by the waist, turning him over so he laid on his stomach. His sensitive cock brushed across the fur and made Stiles lift his hips, gasping a bit when his legs shook.   
"That's it," Peter praised, and helped raise Stiles up until he had both knees under him. "Just like that."  
Stiles doesnt even try to get his hands under him, he lays on his chest and shoulders, hands fisting into the fur under him as Peter quickly lines himself up.   
"Peter," he whimpers. Peter leans forward, biting at Stiles' shoulder blade before pushing himself inside. Stiles cants forward, sore and overstimulated and he whines. Peter's hands find his hips, keeping him from moving too far as he pushes in a little more. "I'll be gentle," Peter promises, mouthing at Stiles' spine. He's slow as he pushes himself all the way in, and Stiles let's out a mewl, pressing his forehead into the fur.   
He knew his eyes flashed blue when Peter started moving, pulling out and shoving back in with long drawn out thrusts.   
"Peter," he moaned, gritting his teeth as Peter's cock brushed against his prostate.   
"You feel so good, Sionnach Donn," Peter rumbled, pressing back into him. Stiles can't tell if it hurts or if it feels good, but after a few minutes of Peter dragging himself against his prostate agonizingly slowly, his dick twitches, and he feels himself getting hard again. He didnt know if he could do it a third time. He had only ever cum twice in one sitting. Had always been too exhausted to try for thirds.   
Stiles reached a hand back, clawed fingers biting into the flesh of Peter's hips. He was going to fucking slow. It was messing with his mind, and he let out another whine, turning his head so his cheek pressed into the fur.   
"Peter," he begged, a near gasp of breath that had Peter canting a little faster. "Peter, please. Please."  
Peter leaned down, draping over Stiles' back like a blanket and pressing a kiss to his cheek, a hand moving around his front. Stiles let out a noise when his hand curled around Stiles' spent dick, slowly fisting him as he thrusted.   
Stiles felt white hot all over. Like he was trying to breath through a weight pressing into his chest. He might've wheezed at some point, but he couldnt tell. And then Peter was cumming inside him, his thrusts irregular and sharp.   
When Stiles came it was with a white static, his body shuddering and pulling a gaspy breath from him. There wasn't much that fell onto the bed, and Stkles felt completely drained as Peter pulled out of him.   
He would've dropped onto his stomach if Peter hadn't wrapped an arm around his waist and held him up.   
He moved the two of them to their sides, out of the puddle Stiles made. Peter held him close to his chest, burying his nose into the back of his neck.   
"You're not allowed to leave," Peter said, his voice barely above a whisper as he held Stiles close. Stiles felt small tucked in Peter's arms, but he managed to turn his head to catch Peter's eye. He had been worried about Stiles -that was obvious.   
"I don't want to," Stiles said, just as softly. It surprised him how much he meant it. And they both knew this wasn't about being taken by another pack and almost killed. No, Stiles didn't want to leave Peter ever.   
There was nothing that would make Stiles want to leave Peter's side. He was stuck in this time, and he'd signed himself up to be stuck here with Peter. And he didn't mind, because Peter cared for him. He protected Stiles, made him feel safe. And he kept the nightmares away.   
Stiles fell asleep before dinner, and stayed asleep until the next morning. His body needed time to rest -after a night of torture and three orgasms in a row, Stiles owed it to himself to sleep for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heres that longer chapter! Look! We got some finger action! Not just sticking it in now!! You should be proud of Peter, he's coming a long way!  
> Stiles and Peter are making me so happy! Like I know I'm the one writing them but it makes me happy watching their character growth!


	30. Chapter 30

"If they want a fight for this territory, then that's what they'll get," Peter threatened a week later. Stiles had gone with him to talk with his male pack mates -the ones he took with him to battle.   
He sat in the chair Peter had left in order to stand in front of the table with the map of the soon to be Beacon Hills layed out on top. Stiles didn't say anything the whole meeting.   
The pack that had attacked the week prior had declared war on the Hales. Stiles wasn't worried about it -he knew the Hales win the battle and take the territory. But he was worried about what else he knew about the battle.   
Peter was going to die, and Stiles had spent a good majority of the meeting trying to figure out how to stop it from happening.   
The men were talking and making plans for the battle, as Stiles lounged in the chair meant for the alpha. None of the betas commented on it, knowing Stiles was Peter's. The two were equals -Stiles made sure of that- and Stiles wasn't afraid of Peter. Especially not over seating.   
When the meeting ended, it was decided where the battle would take place, and when. There was a field an hour Northeast from here, and it would take place in three days.   
Three days to figure out what the fuck to do.   
He did know one thing. He had to warn Peter.   
"Sionnach Donn." Stiles looked up. Peter was standing over him, looking down at him with those fond eyes. He was getting that look recently. Like Peter couldn't help but look at Stiles with fondness and contentment. It made Stiles' stomach drop in the best way possible.   
"Are you okay?" He asked. Stiles realized he was frowning, and quickly fixed a small smile as he stood up, arms immediately moving to Peter's sides to flit his fingers across his ribs through his shirt.   
"No," Stiles decides. "I think we should talk somewhere private." When Peter gave him a concerned look, Stiles pressed a kiss to his mouth. "About the battle."  
*-*  
They're in the tent, it's dark with the flap secured down, but Stiles and Peter can see fine. Stiles makes Peter sit on the bed of furs, but Stiles stays standing and chews on his nails.   
"You can't go," he finally says, dropping his hand from his mouth.   
And Peter looks mad, and he inhales, like he's trying to collect himself before the inevitable argument ensues, but before he can get more than a "Stiles," out, he continues.   
"I know what happens to you," Stiles says, and his throat tightens with emotion. "You can't fight or you're gonna die."  
Peter looks like he still wants to speak, and Stiles knows he's still mad, that he isn't going to listen to Stiles, so he pushes forward.   
"I told you, you weren't allowed to leave me," he said, voice hard, if only to fight off the panic at loosing Peter. "If you leave me I'll be all alone here and I won't make it without you. So you can't fight."  
And that does it. Peter's angry expression softens and he let's out a put upon sigh and drops Stiles' gaze.   
"Come here, Sionnach Donn."   
Stiles moves, straddles Peter's lap and curls his arms around Peter's neck.   
Peter holds him, runs dull nails up and down his back soothingly. Peter didn't want Stiles to leave, and Stiles didn't want Peter to.   
"Tell me what happens," Peter murmurs softly. And that's the thing. Stiles doesnt know what happens! He hadn't been paying the most attention to the story, all he remembered was Peter dies. And he can't live here -in this time or another- without Peter.   
"I don't know," he says softly, pulling his head from Peter's neck to look him in his icy blue eyes. "All I know is when you die. In three days."  
"Do we win?"  
Stiles can't tell if he's asking out of curiosity or something else. "The Hales protect Beacon Hills for three hundred years after."  
And that makes Peter smile victoriously. That wont do. Stiles scowls down at him, hand curling around the back of his neck.   
"You can't leave me, Peter Hale," he growled. "You're not allowed."  
Peter's smile fell, his arms around Stiles' hips tightened a little. "I'm not going to sit back while my pack fights for our land."  
Stiles bristled. "You're going to die!" He snapped, removing his arms from Peter's neck. Peter wouldn't let him stand, but he's sure if he could stand he'd just end up pacing. "Its not a hunch you can just brush off! You die!"  
"Everyone dies, Stiles," Peter drawls. "Its my fight, and I don't plan on sitting back and watching. Threat of death or no." Stiles growls, eyes flashing.   
"Let me go," he says. Peter does and Stiles climbs off before storming out of the tent. He doesn't go towards the other tents, but makes his way into the woods.   
Its dusk, and will be completely dark in a little over two hours, but Stiles doesn't care. He can find his way back when he's good and ready. And right now he'd rather not.   
He doesnt care that he's making a racket, he just knows he needs to get as far away from Peter as he can before he blows up. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry.   
He didn't even know why he was so mad. He was mad that Peter didnt listen. Mad that he was willing to die and leave Stiles. Mad that Stiles would be stuck here alone with no way to get home. No one here to keep him company as he lived the rest of his life in the 18th century.   
Mad that he couldn't remember what happened. Mad that he didn't listen better when Derek told him the story. Mad that he ever went to the Nemeton for answers. Mad that it was him who was possessed by the Nogitsune.   
He was just mad. And he was upset. So he continued to walk until he found the river and dropped onto the rock with a huff. His bare feet dipped into the flowing river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm almost finished with this story! It's coming to a close I'm thinking 40 ish chapters! Anywho I'm still not even close to finishing Ready to Comply -as in I'm close to finishing but I just havent written it cause I suck ass- and I started that book first 😭  
> But anywho, when I'm closer to finishing this one I'll be posting a new fox Stiles steter book so I'm trying to finish as soon as possible! I'd like to get both books finished but honestly this one is so much more fun to write than Ready to Comply


	31. Chapter 31

"Are you so mad at me you'd rather sleep outside?"  
Stiles blinked his eyes open. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep, but it was dark now. He was laying down on the rock, stomach up in the air. His feet hung just above the water, and he turned his head to see Peter, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his lips.   
"I'd rather get used to the idea of sleeping alone in the middle of nowhere," Stiles growled, sitting up and facing Peter. "My mate plans on dying anyway."  
Peter sighs, stepping forward. "I don't plan on dying, Sionnach Donn."  
"If you didnt, you wouldn't be going," Stiles crossed his arms. He felt tears sting his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.   
Peter stopped just in front of him, dropping his head to look down at him. Stiles really felt his resolve cracking.   
"I don't-" his voice cracked. Stiles scowled, taking a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. He couldnt even look at Peter for fear of breaking down and crying. "I don't want you to die, Peter."  
Peter sighed, and knelt down in front of the rock Stiles sat on, placing his hands on Stiles' crossed arms.   
"Come back to the tent, Stiles," he demanded softly, forcing Stiles' arms to uncross so he could grab Stiles' hands.   
Stiles couldn't say no. He let Peter pull him to his feet, and Stiles kept his hand in Peter's as they walked through the woods.   
"Why don't you care?" Stiles managed to ask, the two of them hearing the tents. Stiles had been silent for the entirety of the walk back.   
Peter looked down at him as they walked, fingers tightening around Stiles' hand.   
"I care," Peter said. The field was empty, save for a few wolves sitting around to guard the field. They looked over when Stiles and Peter entered the field but removed their gaze when they realized who it was.   
"You don't," Stiles countered. Peter held open the flap of his tent, allowing Stiles to step inside. Neither let their hands go.   
When Peter steps inside, he pulls Stiles to the bed of furs and forces the two to sit side by side. "You think I don't care about you?"  
Stiles chews on his lower lip, looking down to where their hands are held between their thighs.   
"I think you don't care about yourself," Stiles said finally, looking up at Peter with a frown. "You don't care about getting killed, therefore, you don't care about me."  
Stiles knows Peter wants to retaliate Stiles' accusations, but Stiles holds up his free hand to stop him. He was repeating himself. First with Lydia, and now with Peter. Only this was different. He felt differently about Peter -loved him more, maybe.   
"You dying doesn't just effect you, Peter. It effects everyone around you," he said. "And it wont just effect me, your pack wont have an alpha."  
Peter didn't say anything, but he pulled Stiles into his lap again and held him close. Stiles hated that he enjoyed and craved Peter's touch, especially now. But he curled into Peter and held him just as closely.   
The two sat like that for a long time before Peter spoke, and Stiles wondered if he had been thinking of what to say.   
"I don't believe in fate, Sionnach Donn," he said, tone hard. "I don't believe we are destined for one end. We have a say in our lives. And I say I will not die in this battle."  
"How can you not believe in fate?" Stiles asked, sounding crossed. He kept his chin on Peter's shoulder, fingers pressing into his shoulder blades.   
Peter pulled back, forcing Stiles to do the same so they looked at each other in the eye.   
"You of all people should know," he said. Stiles frowned at him, not understanding. "You changed your fate many times."  
When Stiles still didn't understand, Peter dipped his fingers into the collar of his tunic, the feather light touches telling Sriles he was tracing the lichtenberg figure scar on his shoulder.   
"No one survives the Nogitsune," Peter hummed. "You not only survived, but you defeated it."  
Peter's fingers moved down, grasping at the scar on Stiles' thigh, squeezing his leg through the pants.   
"You survived fever, and a fetal wound" he hummed. "You survived an alpha, and a darach, and most likely plenty of others I have yet to discover."  
Stiles chewed his lip, noting how Peter smiled softly with pride. "You survived my bite," he continued softly, reaching forward to brush his lips against the curve where Stiles' shoulder met his neck.   
"If you can survive so much as a human," Peter said, tugging Stiles closer and nipping at his skin. "I can survive a battle as alpha."  
"But what if you can't?" Stiles asked. "Our fates are written in stone. The only reason I survived all I have is because fate had other plans."  
"Stiles," Peter pulled back with a sigh, holding Stiles tight. "The only reason you survived is because you overcame. And I will over come this battle, like I always have."  
"What if you don't?" Stiles asked.  
"Then you will over come that as well," Peter responded. Stiles shook his head, mind already made up as he sat in Peter's lap, his mate's arms curled around his lower back.   
"If you're going to fight fate, then I'm coming with you," Stiles said with a scowl. If Peter was willing to go to war, knowing his fate was sealed, then all Stiles could do was go with him and hope that he was enough to keep Peter alive -at least for a little while longer.   
Peter didn't retaliate. He gave a small smile, his mind seemingly made up as well. Stiles leaned down to press their mouths together in a chaste kiss, but didn't move to get up.   
"Can I make love to you?" Peter asked softly, tenderly dipping his fingers under Stiles' tunic to press into his warm flesh. Peter never asked. Always took. At least until recently, when he started giving. Only to Stiles.   
Stiles -not trusting his voice- nodded.   
It wasn't quick. There was no burning flame to Peter's touch as he pulled Stiles to lay on the bed. What Stiles would call their time in bed was fucking. They fucked, they screwed, they rutted against each other, they shagged, banged, mated. But they'd never made love.   
And Stiles never knew Peter was capable of it, but as he laid there, watching as Peter removed their clothes and marked his skin, he couldn't help but feel like this was so much better than any quick fuck they'd shared.   
Stiles wondered if it was an apology for their argument, if he was grateful to have Stiles by his side. He had no clue, and he couldn't focus on it much when Peter used his mouth to love every inch of Stiles until he was a hot mess of sensitive nerves and sloppy words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So more trouble in the sort of paradise that is Peter and Stiles' relationship! I'm so ready to finish this book! Only because I'm excited for the ending! I'm not sure how many chapters are left, but thankfully I've grown out of extending books to soap opera proportions!   
> Let me know what you guys think so far!!


	32. Chapter 32

Stiles woke up to Peter climbing over him to get out of bed. He was laying on his stomach, tartan loosely laid across his ass and thighs. He hummed tiredly, arms crossed under his head.   
"Sleep, Sionnach Donn," Peter whispered, tugging his pants up. Stiles shifted, turning so he was on his back, one leg out from under the tartan and not much covering his cock.   
"Where you goin'?" Stiles grumbled. It was still dark out, but he knew it was morning by the birds outside.   
Peter pulled a tunic over his head before walking back to the bed. He leaned down, kissing Stiles softly, hands gripping the tartan and tugging it so it covered more of Stiles.   
"I need to go into town," he said, nuzzling into Stiles' neck that had Stiles sighing. "I'll be back around noon."  
Stiles was already falling bsck to sleep, and Peter ran a hand through Stiles' hair, which only brought him closer to sleep.   
"M'kay."  
Another kiss was placed on Stiles' lips, though Stiles was too tired to reciprocate, and then Stiles was fast asleep and Peter finished getting ready.   
When he woke up again, he could smell breakfast. The bed beside him was empty, and after a moment he remembered Peter needing to go into town.   
Why, Stiles had no idea. Maybe to get weapons for the fight? Get medicine for any wounds? Stiles climbed out of bed and got dressed in the previous day's clothes.   
He stumbled out of the tent and made his way to the group of wolves. Ottelia and Maryett were easy to pick out of the crowd and Stiles made his way to them.   
"Hello Stiles," Ottelia smiled, passing a bowl of stew to him. Stiles grinned in greeting.   
"Where's alpha Peter?" Maryett asked, her own bowl tilting up to her lips before she finished talking.   
"He went into town," Stiles said. The three of them moved from the crowd to sit alone. Stiles didn't view them as pack -Peter was his pack. His pack was back in 2017, and he had long ago settled in the fact that he would never see them again. But Ottelia and Maryett were as close as Stiles was comfortable. They were friends. The woman who looked old enough to be his mom, and the girl who could be a younger sister or a niece. These two were the only ones in the pack he liked, aside from Peter. They talked and ate, Ottelia was quiet, adding to stories Marryett told, or laughing softly. Stiles was content to listen to Maryett talking about a boy she liked in the pack -she refused to name him. Breakfast was over long ago, but the three of them kept their conversations going until Stiles smelled Colin.   
Colin walked past, glaring at Stiles. Stiles scowled at him, and it only deepened when he smelled something familiar clinging to his clothes. Like wolves, but not pack.   
He tore his eyes from Colin then, dismissing himself from Ottelia and Maryett's company to head to the tent. He wanted to go to the river -where he had gone many times now- but it was too cold. The leaves had changed colors, had yet to really fall, but the wind chilled his exposed skin.   
Once in the tent, Stiles flopped down on the bed of furs and huffed. He wondered if he could do it. Could fight in battle along side Peter.   
Sure, he fought before. He fought Derek's uncle, faught Jackson, the alpha pack and the darach. He fought the Nogitsune and the Oni. But he didn't know if he could fight now. In this battle.   
A battle Stiles couldnt help but picture as a bloodbath out of Mel Gibson's Braveheart. Would Peter paint half his face and give a speech? Coach had used speeches from movies to rally the lacrosse team, and Stiles couldnt help the nostalgic smile that lifted his lips at the small detour his brain made.   
And then it fell again once he got back to topic. Because in the end of Braveheart, after the battle, William Wallace had been tortured and killed. He had been killed and had left Queen Isabella alone. Stiles didn't want to be Queen Isabella. And he didnt want Peter to be William Wallace.   
He must've been thinking for longer than he thought, because soon he could hear Capall Donn snorting his way close to the tent -could smell Peter.   
He got out of bed, exiting the tent just as Peter dismounted. He turned and gave a small smile to Stiles. Stiles walked over and wrapped his arms around Peter's torso, nuzzling into his neck.   
Peter didnt even tie Capall Donn to the tree before he was hugging Stiles back.   
"What did you need in town?" Stiles asked a second later, pulling back just enough to look at Peter, who looked wary and tired. He ducked his head, pressing his mouth to Stiles' with a firm pressure that had Stiles inhaling.   
"I had a couple questions I needed answers to," Peter said vaguely. "And I needed to grab a few things." A few things for the battle, Stiles thought.   
"Why don't you get ready to go," Peter said after a sigh that was clearly to collect himself. Stiles frowned in confusion, head softly tilting to the side.   
"Go where?"  
Peter squeezed him once before pushing him lightly towards the tent.   
"We have two days until the battle," Peter said, following Stiles inside. "And I'd like to spend the full moon with you. Alone."  
Stiles cocked an eyebrow, and couldnt help the small smirk that pulled his lips up.   
The two grabbed a few things -Peter's sword, dirk, furs and belt, and Stiles' own knife, and the tartan.   
The full moon was tomorrow night. And then the day following, the Hale pack would fight for Beacon Hills, and they would win. And Stiles would keep Peter from dying.   
The two left before lunch was served, Stiles sitting in front of Peter in the saddle, back resting against Peter's chest with the tartan draped over their laps.   
"Where are we going?" Stiles asked as Peter kicked Capall Donn into an easy trot out of the field.   
"Some place special," Peter said softly, lips pressing to Stiles' jaw, arms around him tightening.   
Stiles leaned into the hold, turning his head to kiss Peter's cheek. He wondered if this was normal -for Peter to leave just before the battle. Was it a tradition? Or maybe he went to clear his head or to pray. Stiles didnt know if Peter was religious. Maybe he meditated.   
But he was taking Stiles with him, and Stiles appreciated it. He was nervous -afraid, even- and he didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be close to Peter. He wanted to hold onto every second eith Peter, because Peter was pig-headed and a martyr just like Derek, and he knew no matter what he said, Peter wouldn't caution his words. So Stiles wanted to be as close to Peter for as long as he could. Because if he couldnt find a way to keep Peter from dying, then he would be alone. And he didn't want to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry I didnt post yesterday! I ordered a binder and it arrived yesterday and I was kind of freaking out and extremely too excited!   
> Also, someone said they liked my sex scenes and that they were bummed I didnt write the love making in the chapter before, but don't worry I'll post a couple in the next couple chapters!   
> I didnt think anyone liked the sex scenes, I'm horrible at writing them and I have literally ZERO experience on the topic but if I'm faking that well then good for me?😂  
> Anyway, hope you guys like the chapter! Tell me what you think!


	33. Chapter 33

The two rode until night fell. They hadnt made it far, but Peter didn't seem to worry about time.   
Stiles did. If Peter wanted to spend the full moon with Stiles, that only left them a couple hours the following day to get to the battle field. And from what Peter was saying, they still had a ways to travel tomorrow.   
For a brief hopeful moment, Stiles wondered if they were running away, but quickly squashed that thought. Peter would never run from his pack. Not when they were this close to snagging all of Beacon Hills out from the noses of the previous pack.   
The two ate around a camp fire, near the river Stiles knew lead through Woodland pond. He had a vague idea of where he was, but even back in 2017, Stiles never really knew his way around the preserve.   
He knew the pond was a mile from the Hale house, and that the river that ran through it was more of a stream by the time Stiles was born. Knew to the west of the stream was lookout point, and to the south of the pond, about seven miles, was Beacon Lake. He knew the east side of the pond lead to the neighborhoods Stiles and Scott grew up riding bikes in, and further east was East Hills river, and past that was the warehouse district, where Derek lived. Or would live.   
But right now, at this time, Stiles didnt really know where exactly they stood.   
"Tell me about them," Peter said, well after the two had finished eating. Stiles had been looking down at the fire, lost in thought, and he looked up and blinked.   
"What?"  
"Your future pack," Peter elaborated. He was soft. Stiles didn't remember when Peter got soft with him, but he liked it. He liked when Peter was hard with him too -sarcastic and nipping.   
"I don't know where to start," Stiles said on an exhale. "What do you want to know?"  
Peter thought on that for a moment, a stick poking at the almost embers of the fire.   
"Your favorite things about them," he settled on. Stiles couldnt help but smile at the memories that flooded him.   
"Favorite things," he repeated. He climbed to his feet, tugging thr tartan with him to move to the other side of the fire, settling down beside Peter.   
Peter leaned back against a tree, allowing Stiles to lean his back into his shoulder and drape the tartan over both their laps.   
"Its not really favorite things," he said. "More like memories I guess."  
Peter stayed quiet, though he managed to get his arm around Stiles' chest, holding him into Peter's side.   
"I have more stories of Scott than anyone else -we grew up together. But I remember when Lydia was first coming into her banshee powers, and she screamed so loud she busted the glass of a street light, and I had a ringing in my ears for a week after. It was the first time she focused her powers and figured the problem out."  
And he kept talking. He told Peter about Derek, how he never really trusted Stiles and Scott until after Jackson. How he once caught Derek bonding with his betas by cuddling on the couch of his loft.   
He talked about how Stiles had secretly been calling Erica, Boyd and Issac the three musketeers, and how he was secretly afraid of Erica. He backed that up with explaining to Peter that he was also secretly afraid of Lydia, and assumed it was a fear of powerful women, since he wasn't afraid of any men. Except for Derek, but that was before he got to know him.   
He tightly spoke about Allison. How she wasn't like other girls. How even though Stiles was technically a third wheel, Allison made sure he never felt like it. She included him in things, formed their own friendship.   
He moved on from her when his voice began to warble, and told Peter about his dad.   
About how he was on a diet because he ate nothing but bad food and how Stiles was worried he would die young of heart failure.   
And Peter listened. He laughed at certain things, asked questions like "street lamp?" or "what's a jeep?" and Stiles would go off on small conversational detours but always managed to return to topic.   
The conversation died down, and the two were content to falling asleep against each other, with Stiles' head dropped back on Peter's shoulder, and Peter's head pressed to the tree behind him.   
The fire had long ago turned into smouldering embers, but Stiles and Peter didnt need fire to see in the dark. Stiles could see perfectly that Capall Donn was already snoozing on his feet.   
"Do you miss them?" Peter asked, just before the two of them fell asleep. Stiles blinked his eyes open, turned his head just enough to look at Peter upside down, and gave a small smile.   
"All the time," he said, honestly. He turned his head a little more and pressed a kiss to Peter's shoulder, before moving his head back and smuggling deeper into Peter's chest.   
A minute passed. "Do you miss your parents?"  
Peter was silent for a long time, but Stiles knew he was awake -could hear how his breathing hadnt evened out.   
"I miss my mother sometimes," Peter confessed. "She was killed in a raid when I was very young."  
Stiles brought a hand up, grabbing Peter's wrist for comfort. He knew all too well what it felt like to lose a mom.   
"My father wasn't very warm towards me," Peter continued. "Not the way yours seems to be towards you." Stiles frowned at that.   
"Was he abusive?" Stiles asked. Issac had been abused by his dad. He still flinched if someone raised his voice or made to hit him -even in play.   
"He would get violent, yes," Peter confirmed. "He was alpha, and sometimes I wouldn't listen."  
Stiles chewed on his lip, holding Peter's arm closer to his chest. He didn't know what to say. That sucks seemed too impersonal, but Stiles didn't know, because his dad -even at the end of a bottle- had never ever lifted a finger to Stiles. But Stiles didn't have to say anything, because Peter was continuing.   
"When I became old enough to challenge him, I did. And I won." Stiles knew without asking what that meant. Peter had killed his father to become alpha.   
"Do you hate him?" Stiles found himself asking.   
"No," Peter said, and Stiles knew he was telling the truth. "But I didn't love him."  
Stiles moved, tugging Peter with him until the two were laying down on the ground, Peter pressing against Stiles' back, body curling around him like a protective shield. Stiles managed to get the tartan over them both, and snuggled into Peter.   
He felt Peter kiss the back of his neck, nuzzle him there and inhale, scent marking him. And Stiles let out a content rumble, eyes falling closed as Peter drew patterns into the skin of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some background on Peter!! Tell me what you think!!!


	34. Chapter 34

Stiles woke up to something crawling against his arm. He sucked in a breath, eyes flinging open and body jolting as he sat up.   
"What! What is it?" Peter asked, waking up as well. Stiles let out a yelp, seeing a mammoth of a spider scurrying up his arm like it was on a mission. He frantically swatted at his arm until it landed on the ground, then jumped to his feet and promptly stomped on it before doing a full body shiver.   
"A spider," he gagged out, already paranoid that more were hiding in his clothes. Peter watched unamused as Stiles shook out his shirt, stomping to see if anything fell out of his pant legs. He shook his hair out, patted his chest and thighs before he felt safe no more critters took up residence, but he didn't sit down again.   
"You're a werefox," Peter reminded him, standing up much less frantically and stretching. "Bugs aren't going to hurt you."  
"I know that," Stiles said, petulantly. "Doesnt mean they're not the scariest things I've ever seen."  
Peter let out a breathy chuckle, moving to wrap his arms around Stiles and kissing him chastly.  
"Scarrier than me?" He asked.  
Stiles rolled his eyes, but grinned anyway with a nod. "Definitely scarier than you."  
Peter kissed him again and Stiles smiled into the kiss.   
"Hmm," Peter said thoughtfully. "I must be going soft then, if something as small as a bug could be scarier than I am."  
Stiles couldnt help but laugh at that, and he pulled away to grab food from Capall Donn's saddle.   
"Oh, you're definitely a softy," Stiles said, grabbing the food and walking back to the fire Peter was bringing back to life. "If someone told me I had to sit in a room full of spiders or alphas, I'd pick the alphas."  
He squatted beside Peter, setting the bundles of food down. One was bread, the other was smoked meat. "I'd choose alphas over spiders every time," Stiles continued, letting a shiver run down his spine just thinking of that room full of spiders.   
"You think I'm soft?" Peter asked, cocking an eyebrow and looking offended. Stiles shook his head with a chuckle.   
"I tell you my deepest fear and you're stuck on being a softy?"  
"I'll show you softy," Peter growled, and Stiles didn't have any time to do anything before he was being tackled to the ground.   
He laughed, but it was cut off when Peter bit his neck, hard enough to break skin. Jesus if that wasn't the fastest way to get Stiles' pants to tent he didnt know what was.   
Stiles wasted no time lifting his hands to thread through Peter's hair, but Peter growled and grabbed his arms to pin them to the ground by his head.   
There was still blood on Peter's lips, and when he licked them, Stiles saw it tinged his mouth red too. Damn, that shouldnt have been as hot as it was, and Stiles let out a whine, tugging st his arms. Peter didnt let go.   
Stiles let out a groan as Peter grinded his hips down on Stiles', his mouth leaving wet and sloppy kisses across the exposed skin of his neck, and Stiles couldn't touch him, and he wanted to and it made him growl in frustration.   
And Peter fucking smirked against his neck.   
"Peter," he growled, wriggling under him. Because Peter wasn't grinding against him anymore, and his mouth had stilled against his pulse point. They hadnt even had breakfast yet.   
Peter moved then, looking down at Stiles with a smirk. He moved Stiles' arms up so he could hold them with one hand. Stiles felt the strength in just his one hand clasping his two wrists together -knew if he pulled hard enough he could get out- but he didn't try.   
"I'm not soft," Peter growled, eyes flashing red, though he was still smirking. Stiles whined again, hitching his hips for any type of friction.   
"Neither am I," Stiles snapped. "Now quit teasing." Peter laughs, smashing their mouths together, and Stiles takes what he can get.   
But then Peter is pulling away again and Stiles lifts his head, chasing his lips. When Peter gets out of reach, his head drops back down into the grass.   
And Peter's hand is moving from his neck down his chest, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants. Stiles lifts his hips up when Peter tugs, and then his pants are around his knees. Stiles moves to kick them off, but then Peter moves, placing a knee between his legs and trapping the fabric to the ground, so now Stiles can't bend his legs at all.   
"You think I'm soft?" Peter asks lowly, using his hand to hike Stiles' shirt up under his armpits. Stiles arches his back, tries to get any part of Peter on him, but the alpha is keeping just out of reach, and Stiles was pinned down, and he was whining like an abused puppy. It took a minute for his brain to process his words.   
"Yeah," he managed to say, wanting nothing more than to reach down and jerk himself off since Peter wasn't. But he couldnt get his hands free, and he knew he technically could if he actually tried, but he didn't. "The softest."  
Peter growled, nipping at Stiles' jaw before his hand grabbed Stiles at the base of his cock. Stiles let out a stuttered breath, trying to open his legs a little more. He didn't have much room to do so, and he wriggled, wanting the freedom to wrap his legs around Peter and grind up into him.   
"Please," he moaned, head tilting up to expose his throat, his back arching. He wanted more, but Peter was content to just hold him and watch.   
Then Peter moved his hand from the base to the tip, running a thumb over the head and pulling a moan from Stiles.   
Peter is slow, much slower than the other night. Slow to the point of keeping Stiles riled up, but not giving him what he really needs, and Stiles is getting frustrated.   
He can't think straight, can't focus enough to tell Peter to fucking knock it off and just fuck him already. He can't do anything but whine and moan and wriggle and beg.   
And he knew what Peter was doing. Proving that he wasn't a softy. Prove that he was scarier than the spider but Stiles knew Peter wouldn't ever hurt him. Plus, spiders were just, scary. They looked terrifying and some were poisonous and some jumped.   
"Pet-Peter," Stiles whimpered. He was so close to the edge. So close, yet he couldn't tip himself over the edge. And he couldnt thrust up into his hand either. He was sweaty, breathing labored and he was a mess. He couldnt focus on anything but getting an orgasm, and Peter was trying his hardest to keep it just out of reach.   
At some point -for Peter- it had flipped from proving to Stiles he wasn't a softy, to just watching Stiles under him. Stiles was a mess. Really he was, and he was coiled tightly, painfully tightly, and he might even be crying a little. No, definitely not crying, his eyes were just watery because he was frustrated and being teased and he couldnt cum and Peter was just looking at him with this look that Stiles was way too fucking frazzled to figure out.   
"Please, Peter, please, please," Stiles begged, gasping and whining. "I want to- let me- let me please-"  
Peter cuts off his begging with a kiss, and Stiles melts into it. Then Peter's hand is a little harder, and faster, and Stiles breaks the kiss to gasp, finally getting what he wanted. Peter leans back and watches, working Stiles up until he's cumming so hard he actually shouts and arches off the ground and shakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing a post! I'm writing a bit for the new Steter book, as well as figuring out a plot for a sterek book! I'll be posting the first chapter of steter when I'm closer to the end of this book, and hopefully will be posting the sterek book after I finish Ready to Comply!


	35. Chapter 35

The whole day ends up similar to that morning. By lunch, the two had sex four times. Stiles' legs were shaky, and he was sticky and smelled like Peter and he loved it.   
After lunch, Peter takes Stiles to the river, where its deep enough to swim in, and the current isnt very strong. Stiles lets Peter undress him, kissing his shoulder, and then Stiles is tugging Peter's shirt off, and then the two are in the water, and it's cold -bordering freezing- but the two don't mind because werewolves run hotter than humans, and Stiles isn't a human anymore.   
And it wasn't like Stiles ever expected. He had always assumed werewolves just didnt feel anything. They didnt feel pain or cold or heat -but that was wrong. Because Stiles felt pain, he felt the freezing cold water around him. But it was almost like his tolerance for it was stronger than before.   
He could handle more pain than before. He could handle the cold for longer than before. The heat of the fire didn't burn as hot against his shins.   
Stiles swam up to Peter, pressing a kiss to his mouth, and Peter easily lifted him up into his chest.   
"Such a softy," Stiles grinned, his stomach pressing into Peter's, legs tangled together in an attempt to keep themselves afloat. Peter growled at him, and Stiles growled back, kissing him again.   
"I'm only soft for you," Peter said after a moment. Stiles felt his chest tighten, and the grin he wore nearly split his face in two.   
"Yeah?"  
Peter nodded and kissed him again. Stiles smiled, but it quickly turned into a look of shock as Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles' legs and lifted him out of the water.   
"Ah!"  
Stiles was in the air, and he landed a couple feet from Peter with a loud splash -arms and legs flailing.   
He sputtered when he surfaced, coughing up water while Peter laughed, head back. Stiles growled through his coughs, wiping his face with a hand.   
"Asshole," Stiles managed to say. Peter continued to laugh, so Stiles swam back over to him, placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed down.   
Peter dunked under the water, and Stiles managed to get his top half out of the water to push him down further, and then a hand was on Stiles' ankle and he was being pulled under too, and he barely had time to suck in a breath before he was under water.   
Stiles couldnt help but grin under the water as the two wrestled just below the surface, trying to keep the other down.   
When the two broke the surface again, Stiles was laughing, and splashed Peter until he let him go, and then swam off.   
Stiles didnt think about the fight tomorrow once. He was too busy just being. Being with Peter. He had never seen Peter like this. Never seen him so lost in Stiles, or act this way. Peter always seemed like the no nonsense type. Like Derek, without all the scowling and add in the tyrannical show no mercy type. He had only really opened up to Stiles, and he wondered briefly, as Peter swam after him, if Stiles was the only person who got to see any side of Peter that wasn't explicitly alpha.   
The two swam around for another hour before it turned into a make out session, and then Peter was carrying Stiles out of the water. The wind hit their skins, setting them both off with goosebumps, but Stiles didn't mind as Peter carried Stiles in a reverse piggyback to their campsite, depositing Stiles onto the tartan.   
Stiles moved before Peter could lean over him, reversing their rolls. Peter looked surprised when he landed on his back, but Stiles kissed the look off his face, straddling his hips.   
"I want to be on top," Stiles hummed into Peter's mouth. Peter growled, fingers gripping Stiles' thighs. The twitch of his dick under Stiles told him Peter was on board with the idea.   
Stiles knew Peter would never bottom, and Stiles was fine with that. Sure, Stiles had topped before, and he fucking loved it, but he wasn't the type to fight for dominance.   
In fact, the only reason he had topped before was because the guy wasn't comfortable taking control, and Stiles had this weird thing of compensating for others. Scott said it was an anxiety thing. He said he'd caught Stiles doing that -disregarding his own anxiety about something when he saw someone else anxious about it.   
And Stiles didn't have to compensate for Peter's lack of dominance -he had enough to keep Stiles on his back for the rest of his life and he wasn't fucking complaining- but he wanted to switch it up. Wanted to ride Peter, try different positions, maybe suck him off for a change.   
Stiles pulled away and moved down Peter's body, placing kisses across his wet torso. He wasn't one for public sex -he preferred the privacy of his bedroom- but here, in the middle of nowhere with Peter, he didn't care.   
When he reached Peter's very hard dick, he wasted no time in wrapping his lips around the tip. Peter took a sharp breath, but otherwise didn't move.   
Stiles took more of him in, and used his right hand to work what he couldnt get into his mouth.   
Peter let out a small growl, a hand fisting Stiles' hair as Stiles bobbed his head.   
Stiles used his other hand to work himself open, moaning softly around Peter's cock as he started with two fingers. He was too impatient for prep work.   
"Fuck, you're so good, Sionnach Donn," Peter said, voice gruff. Stiles looked up at him, noting how Peter's eyes flashed red, pupils blown wide.   
Stiles pulled his mouth free, moving back up Peter's body until he was kneeling above his dick.   
Peter's hands squeezed at Stiles' sides as Stiles held Peter, and slowly sank onto him. He let out a whimpering moan when he got him all inside, and Peter rolled his hips.   
"Touch yourself," Peter demanded in an almost needy voice below him. Stiles' breath stuttered from his lungs at the idea, and he lifted himself up and dropped back down onto Peter, one hand pressed into Peter's abdomen. He brought the other one to his own cock, running a thumb over the tip.   
Stiles managed to find a rhythm with Peter, the pace easy. He dropped a little rougher than he had the last time he had been in this position -back when he was first experimenting- and his hand worked in time with his hips. The sun was going down, but the golden rays that filtered through the trees spotted Peter and Stiles. Stiles rolled his hips before leaning forward. The hand on Peter's stomach was moved to fist the tartan by his shoulder, bringing him closer to Peter and giving him the angle he wanted.   
The next roll of his hips brought Peter's cock brushing against his prostate and he let out a long moan, forehead dropping to Peter's shoulder.   
Peter's hands ran up his sides, tickling over his rib cage, then moved back down to his thighs. He continued to murmur to Stiles, soft little words that had Stiles mewling above him.   
He was close, he knew he was. He let go of his dick, placing that hand on the other side of Peter's head and rolled his hips a little rougher.   
He kissed Peter sloppily, his hips getting a bit irregular. Peter made up for it by thrusting into Stiles, dominering the kiss. Stiles whined when a hand fisted his leaking cock, and all Stiles could do was hold himself up while Peter fucked up into him. He came not long after, painting Peter's chest with cum.   
He ended up on his elbows, face in Peter's neck while Peter continued to thrust into him, pulling noises from Stiles that wasn't human until Peter was cumming hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	36. Chapter 36

Stiles woke up to Peter shaking him awake. It was dark out, the moon high above them and sending beams of light that scattered through the leaves of the trees.   
"What?" Stiles groaned, rolling over so he was on his back. Peter was dressed, and Stiles wondered if they were leaving early for the battle this morning.   
"Its time to go, Sionnach Donn."  
Stiles is pulled to his feet, and he grumbles about being woken up while it was still dark out.   
The two head to Capall Donn, Peter helping Stiles get into the saddle before climbing on behind him.   
Stiles leans against him, head on Peter's shoulder and eyes closing.   
He must've fallen asleep because he woke up to Capall Donn coming to a stop. He inhaled, rubbing at his eyes and lifting his head.   
"Where are we?" Stiles asked. It was still dark out. Peter dismounted and then helped Stiles down.   
"We're just going over that ridge," Peter nodded in the direction of a small ridge. Stiles nodded, threading his fingers into Peter's.   
Before they started walking, Peter crowded up against Stiles, their mouths meeting. Stiles hummed against his lips, using his free hand to curl around Peter's neck.   
"Are you okay?" Stiles asked when they pulled apart. "You seem off."  
Peter just gave him a smile before leading Stiles away from Capall Donn. The two talked about nothing, never letting their hands go. Peter was ahead of him, arm hanging behind while Stiles talked.   
He frowned after a moment, hearing a humming sound.   
"What's that?" Stiles asked, lifting his eyes from the ground. Peter kept walking, and only stopped when Stiles pulled up, the humming getting louder. His chest clenched.   
Peter had taken him to the nemeton. It was right in front of him, and Stiles felt a whine leave his lips when Peter turned around to look at him.   
"Peter, what's going on?" Stiles asked, pulling his hand from Peter's. He felt a bit of panic in his chest.   
And Peter looked wrecked. He took a step to Stiles, lifting his arms and pulling Stiles into his chest.   
"Why are we here?" Stiles asked, not pulling away. He pressed his nose into Peter's chest, right under his collar bone, and his hands were shaking.   
"You have to go home," Peter said, so quietly Stiles wouldve never heard him if he didnt have superhuman hearing. It felt like Peter just sucker punched him, and he stumbled out of Peter's hold.   
"No," was all he could say.   
"Stiles," Peter sighed, looking like he was having an internal battle with himself. Stiles hated that he used his name. He wasn't Stiles to Peter, he was Sionnach Donn. He shook his head again, feeling tears building up.   
"Stiles, please."  
Stiles felt like the earth was being knocked out from under him, and he shook his head again.   
"No," he managed. Peter took a couple steps forward, grabbing at his wrists. "No, I'm not going. I don't want to."  
Peter pulled him forward again, the humming of the tree settling deeply in his bones.   
"You said-" Stiles' breath hitched. "You said you wouldn't."  
"I know," Peter whispered. Stiles let out a small sob, fingers twisting in the fabric of Peter's shirt sleeves.   
"Why?" Stiles asked.   
Peter looked ready to call off the whole thing and take Stiles back, and Stiles wished with everything he could that Peter would.   
"Its safer for you," he said, tugging him closer. Peter was stepping back every time, bringing them closer to the nemeton. "You can't die."  
"You're going to die!" Stiles stated rather shrilly. "I have to stay with you, I have to keep you safe!"  
Peter pulled him until they were chest to chest, Stiles letting out a cry as tears wetted Peter's shirt.   
"I don't want to go," Stiles said again, shaking his head. "Don't make me go."  
Peter's arms tightened around him, inhaling as he did so. Stiles clutched at him.   
"You have to go back," Peter said softly. "You were never meant to be here in the first place."  
"Fuck you," Stiles growled, shoving Peter away and wiping at his cheeks. "You can't say that!"  
Peter grabbed him again. "You can't say that because I love you," Stiles choked out. "You're mine. I can't lose you, Peter."  
Peter didn't say anything, just tucked Stiles into his neck and held him.   
"You have a family over there," Peter said softly. "And a pack. It was selfish of me to try to keep you."  
"You're my pack," Stiles countered weakly. "I want to be with you."  
"I can't leave you alone, Stiles," Peter said, sounding desperate. "If I die today you'll be stuck here alone. You told me so. I can't handle the thought of you alone."  
Stiles buried his nose into the crook of Peter's neck, getting his skin wet with tears. He didnt want this. He didnt want to go back. He wanted to stay with Peter.   
"You wont die if I'm with you," Stiles said.   
"You don't know that," Peter said with a shake of his head. "And I can't take the chance of you dying instead of me. This is the only option I know where you live and are safe."  
Stiles let out a broken sob, tightening his hold against Peter.   
"Don't make me leave."  
Peter pulled back, and Stiles tightened his hold, not wanting to let go. He didnt want this.   
Then Peter's hands were on his cheeks, pulling his face out of Peter's neck and peppering his face with needy kisses. Stiles cried harder when he saw Peter's own eyes were red rimmed and glossy.   
"I love you, Sionnach Donn," Peter said softly. Stiles let out a choked whimpering noise as Peter brushed his tears away with his thumbs.   
"Don't send me away," Stiles begged, sounding too broken. His mate was sending him away. Some animalistic part of him knew his mate was leaving him, and he felt rejected.   
Peter kissed him, long and slow and needy all at the same time. It felt like a goodbye and it pulled a whine from Stiles that had his face contorting.   
The humming was so loud Stiles felt it vibrating in his bones. Peter ran a hand down his arm, behind him to where Stiles had gripped the back of his shirt, still kissing Stiles as he tugged the hand away from his shirt. Stiles only held on tighter with his other, deepening the kiss.   
Peter took a step back, forcing Stiles forward, and he realized too late what Peter was doing when Peter pulled Stiles' arm further back, towards the nemeton.   
Stiles broke the kiss. "No," he whined, taking in Peter's deep blue eyes even as he felt the nemeton grab at his fingers. He struggled against both their holds.   
"No, Peter I don't want to-"  
And then he was falling, and his grip on Peter, no matter how tight it was, wasn't enough to hold on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres only a couple more chapters before this book is finished! I think maybe 2 or 3? I'm going to be adding a bonus chapter in the future pack's point of view!  
> These last couple chapters arent going to be the happiest but I promise itll have a happy ending!   
> Let me know what you guys think?


	37. Chapter 37

Stiles landed hard, the wind knocking out of him as he stared up into the dark canopy. He sobbed loudly, something in his chest snapping in the most agonizing way.   
He didn't know how long he had fallen, but the sun was raising. Stiles rolled to his side, heaving a wrecked breath before choking out sob after sob, arms curling around his middle.   
Peter had sent him away. He was gone. Stiles didn't know where he was. What time he was. The nemeton was quiet, no humming. No way to go back.   
He knew Peter was probably riding to the battle right now. That had been the plan, leave at daybreak to meet the pack.   
Stiles choked on his sobs until he couldnt cry anymore and closed his eyes, wishing when he woke up that Peter would be laying next to him.   
When he did open his eyes again, it was to a too loud hum of an engine. His ears too sensitive. He sat up, whining pitifully.   
He managed to get to his feet and walked. He didnt know if he was walking towards the sound or away from it, but it was cut off and Stiles kept walking.   
"Stiles?"  
Stiles looked up and felt his face fall into another sob. Derek rushed forward, wrapping him in a tight hug that pulled another cry from Stiles.   
He sagged in his hold, barely keeping himself on his feet as Derek hugged him, nose in his neck to take in his new scent.   
"Where have you been?" Derek asked, pulling back to hold Stiles out at arm's length, taking in his tunic and matching pants, his bare feet, and the dirt caked to him.   
"He sent me away," was all Stiles could say on a sob, body crumpling forward again. Derek held him up, hushing him before leading Stiles the way he'd come.   
The Camero was sitting on the seasonal path, and Derek helped him in.   
The loud bang of the door had Stiles flinching, but he just leaned against the window and cried.   
Derek drove, and the smooth ride made Stiles nauseous. Derek was pulling out his phone and dialed a number before holding it to his ear. He looked at Stiles with worried eyes, and Stiles heard the other end pick up.   
"Hey, Der," came Scott's voice.   
"Get the pack, meet me at Deaton's," Derek demanded. Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, holding his breath. He couldnt do this. He needed Peter. But Peter sent him away.   
He didn't hear the rest of the conversation. When Derek got into town, the loud noises of life had Stiles more on edge than he already was.   
He could hear every electric hum of every street light and store signs. The cars driving past was too loud.   
Derek pulled into the familiar parking lot of the vet clinic, and jumped out. Stiles didnt move. He couldn't. Derek opened his door and grabbed Stiles, pulling him from the car and heading into the clinic. Stiles' tears were dried up, and he ran a hand across his face as Derek lead Stiles through the lobby.   
"Deaton!"  
Stiles was pushed past the gate and into the back room, where Deaton was working on a cat.   
He took one look and stilled, eyes landing on Stiles before he picked the cat up under his arm.   
"I'll be right with you."  
Stiles felt the threat of tears again, so he moved away from Derek, putting the exam table between them and rubbing his face as he tried to pull himself together.   
"What happened?" Derek asked. "Where have you been?"  
Stiles shook his head, hands shaking a little. Deaton came back, all business.   
"I assumed you called Scott?" Derek nodded. "And his dad?"  
Stiles felt his lip wobble. His dad. He brushed at the tears before they had a chance to fall, and Dedek was rushing out of the room to make that phone call.   
"Come sit," Deaton said. Stiles did, sitting on the exam table.   
The bell rang on the front door, it made Stiles flinch at the loud noise, and then he was sobbing all over again, because Scott, Lydia, and Malia were there.   
Deaton stepped back as Stiles jumped from the table, crushing into Scott. The wolf stumbled back into Malia and Lydia, but the two just hugged them.   
Stiles sobbed, hands frantically grabbing at the three of them, nose in Scott's neck, breathing in the much deeper scent of his best friend.   
They stayed like that until Derek came back. Then Stiles was back on thr exam table, the pack all standing around him.   
"What happened?" Scott asked, sounding just as wrecked as Stiles felt. "You just disappeared, we couldn't find you."  
"I went to the nemeton," Stiles said, voice not up to par from the constant crying. "It- it sucked me in."  
"And spit you out in a different time," Deaton supplied when Stiles didnt. He gave a small nod.   
"What?"   
"I met Peter Hale," Stiles managed, the name thick in his throat like honey. His lip wobbled again and he knew he was crying again because Lydia handed him a kleenex.   
"Wait," Malia frowned. "You're telling me you've been in the 18th century for a year?" She asked.   
Stiles let out a watery laugh, using the kleenex to wipe at his nose.   
Stiles tried his best to tell them what had happened. The story was interrupted numerous times, and by the time he finished, the small pack looked completely lost, unsure of what to do.   
"You were bitten?" Scott asked after a silence when Stiles had stopped crying.   
"It was a mate bite, wasn't it?" Derek asked, those eyebrows meeting in the middle of his face.   
A new bout of tears sprung to his eyes and he nodded. "He sent me away."  
The bell above the door chimed again, and everyone turned their heads to look. A second later, Stiles' dad came in, barely catching the door frame in an attempt to slow his entrance.   
Their eyes locked, both watery.   
"Dad."  
He managed to get off the exam table before being crushed in a bone crushing hug. Stiles hugged him just as tightly, sobbing into the sheriff uniform, claws piercing the fabric in his attempt to pull his dad closer.   
"Shh," he soothed, running a hand through Stiles' hair. "Its okay, you're okay."  
Stiles buried his nose into his dad's neck, inhaling. It calmed him down, just like it had when Stiles scented Scott and Derek, but it wasn't what he needed. He needed Peter. His mate. The mate that sent him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple more chapters away from the ending! I'm writing the epilogue as we speak!   
> I promise it ends happy! Sort of 😂 it's a happy ending but it's also kind of sad -i think.   
> Let me know what you think!!   
> Also, I've given the new Steter book a name! It's called Fox and the Hound! I'll be posting the first chapter soon so keep an eye out!


	38. Chapter 38

The week that passed felt like Stiles was walking through honey. He stayed close with his dad, cuddled against any of his friends if they came by. He even buried his nose in Derek's neck as the two sat on the couch.   
It was the worst week of his life. He couldnt stop thinking about Peter.   
The beginning of the second week, Stiles' dad had to go back to work, and Stiles stayed at home. He wasn't used to the new sounds. He hated the hum of electricity, had shut off every light and unplugged everything he could. He wanted to sound proof his room. No. What he wanted was Peter.   
Stiles cried himself to sleep every night. Some nights his dad was there to rub his back until he was asleep, but most times he cried with the door shut, his heart aching.   
"Stiles, you have to eat," Scott said, sounding desperate. Stiles hadn't been able to stomach much. Derek said it was because he was away from his mate. Stiles thought he was right. The pain he felt was too great. He couldnt eat.   
"Tell me about him," Lydia had asked one day, the two of them on the couch. She was sitting, and Stiles was on his stomach, head in her lap as he stared blankly at the black tv.   
Her hands had carded through his hair, and he managed to tell her about Peter.   
On the fourth day of the second week, Stiles was in his room with books and his old lap top. He wanted to get back to Peter. He had to. He didnt know if he was too late; if the nemeton would even take him back to a point where Peter was still alive. But he had to try.   
He read over the story. Peter's story. He read and reread until the words started to blur, and he cursed. Nowhere was there any mention of Peter having an heir, and even Peter himself had told Stiles there was no chance of having one.   
He knew it was too late to save him, but Stiles did it anyway, poured himself over every piece of paper, every story, every article he could find, trying to figure it all out.   
By the third week, he did. And it made him angry. His eyes flashed blue, nails turned to claws and his teeth sharpened as he growled.   
"What? What's wrong?" Scott asked, sitting upright. He had been laying in Stiles' bed -it was too soft- while Stiles was at his computer desk.   
Stiles felt tears in his eyes, the growling broken only by a huffed out sob as he curled forward to rest his head on the desk.   
Scott jumped off the bed, draping himself over Stiles and hugging him tightly as Stiles broke down again. He couldnt count how many times he had cried since coming back. His heart hurt, his body numb, his mind a tangled knot of emotions and scenarios and wishes.   
"I want Peter," Stiles sobbed, turning in Scott's hold to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in Scott's stomach.   
Scott just held him. He rubbed his back while Stiles cried.   
When Scott left for the night, Stiles poured back into the researching. He had old tomes from Derek, the beastiary, his lap top and about seven notebooks filled with facts and findings. He needed to go back, and with the knowledge he had of Peter's death, it only pushed him harder.   
He knew two things by the end of the third week. He knew who kills Peter, and he knew how to get back.   
He walked down the stairs, finding his dad in the living room. He was sitting in his recliner, watching the game. He smiled as Stiles entered, and Sriles fiddled with his fingers.   
He made his way to his dad, and without a word, climbed into his lap. He curled himself as small as he could go, head resting on his dad's chest to listen to his heart beating steadily in his chest.   
His dad held him close, kissing his head. He hadn't done this since Stiles was still small enough to be picked up, and he felt tears pricking his eyes as he held his dad closer.   
"I'm sorry," Sriles said after a while. His dad kissed his head again, his heart rate upticking.  
"You want to go back," he said softly. Stiles nodded, heard his heart beat go up again as he tightened his hold on Stiles.   
"I'm sorry," Stiles said again, tears brimming his eyes.   
"Shh," his dad hummed. Stiles smelt the saltiness of his tears and hated that it was because of him. "Its okay."  
Stiles shook his head, straightening on his dad's lap to look at him, both with tears in their red rimmed eyes.   
"Its not," Stiles said shortly, mostly because he was so close to sobbing again. "I don't want to leave you."  
His dad nodded in understanding, even as he sucked in a shuddering breath. "But you need your mate."  
At that, Stiles let out a small whine, that ache in his chest so strong it had him curling in on his dad again, nodding.   
"You need to do what's best for you," he said, hugging Stiles.  
"But I dont want to leave you again," Stiles sobbed softly. "I don't want to leave the pack."  
"Your pack is with Peter," his dad said. "I'll be fine. I have Scott and Derek, and the girls."  
Stiles could only cry against his dad.   
"Plus," he said, kissing Stiles' hair again. "Now that I know where you'll be, I won't worry as much this time around."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Dont be, son," he said, sniffling with Stiles. The two stayed like that for a long time, until Stiles' lower back started to hurt from the hunched position, and his dad's legs were asleep.   
"When are you leaving?" He asked when Stiles managed to pull himself up to sit on the couch next to him.   
"The full moon," Stiles said. "When I disappeared the first time it was on the full moon, same as when Peter sent me back."  
His dad nodded. It left them a week. A week to say goodbye.   
"Do you think itll work?" He asked, looking at Stiles with tears still fresh in his eyes. Stiles' own eyes burned with emotion. "Will if send you back to the same time you left?"  
Stiles gave a small shrug, feeling so hopeless yet so hopeful at the same time.   
"It has to," Stiles said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go!!!


	39. Chapter 39

Stiles had never cried as much as he did in that month away from Peter. He had told the pack what he was going to do, and everyone had cried. Even Derek got a little misty eyed, but Stiles never said anything about it.  
Stiles spent most of his time with his dad -going on patrols with him, sitting with him at the station, curling up next to him on the couch.  
And the pack stayed with him as much as they could. Scott and him cried the most. They became very tactile as the week came to an end and the full moon grew closer.   
"I got this for you," Lydia said softly, the morning of the full moon. Stiles frowned, taking the gift wrapped item from her hands.   
"What is it?" He asked.   
"Open it," Malia responded. Stiles gave a small smile. His dad had called off work today, the pack was all in his living room.   
Stiles was on the couch between his dad and Scott, with Derek squeezed in at the end by Scott. Malia and Lydia sat on the coffee table in front of them, all their knees touching.   
Stiles pulled the wrapping paper off -it was a paper bag taped closed with scotch- and pulled out a book.   
It was leather and as thick as a novel. He opened it, blank pages flicking between his fingers. He looked up at Lydia in question, and she smiled.   
"So you can write to us," she said softly. Stiles frowned a little, looking down at the book.   
"How will I do that?"  
"Keep it safe," Lydia smiled. "Write whatever you want and hide it somewhere safe. We'll find it eventually."  
It made tears brim his eyes again. He gave a wobbly smile and thanked her.   
And then his dad is hugging him, and Scott orders take out. The pack and him talk. Stiles tells them who kills Peter, and they tell him they'll keep an eye out for him.   
Because they can. Stiles wont be able to check in on the pack or his dad, but they'd be able to check in on him. They'd be able to see the articles, hear the stories. And with Lydia's ideas, they'd have Stiles' book to read.   
That night, Stiles dresses in nto a pair of khaki pants, and a brown Henley. His dad hands him a dark green flannel jacket when they meet in the hallway.   
"In case you get cold," he says. Stiles pulls it on over his shirt. Its three sizes too big on him, but it smells like his dad and he cries as his dad holds him.   
"Don't forget about me, 'kay?" His dad whispers. This was their goodbye. Stiles didnt want anyone to come with him to the nemeton. Stiles was going to go by himself, and if all went well, Derek would drive his jeep back to his dad in the morning.   
"I wont," Stiles promised. The book was stuffed into thr waistband of his pants, and a couple pictures were stuffed inside.   
The ones he had before had been ruined long ago. Now, he had new ones. One with him, his dad and his mom, one with just him and his dad, at the beginning of his junior year. He had one with just him and Scott, when they were in middle school, and a pack picture.   
It was a newer picture. Derek had an arm around Malia in the back, sitting on a sofa with Scott beside them. He was mid bite, a pizza slice handing from his open mouth. Lydia was on the recliner, legs resting on the armrest with her ankles crossed. There was no Allison in this picture. Instead, there was Kira. She sat on the floor between Scott and Malia's knees, grinning and holding up two fingers.   
They were all slotted into the pages of the book.   
When Stiles and his dad pulled away, his dad brushed his cheeks, smiling sadly at him.   
"You be good, you hear me?"   
"I will," Stiles said, sniffling. The sun was setting, the light outside turning blue. Stiles cried the whole way to his jeep, and then the whole drive to the preserve.   
He parks the jeep where he did the first time, securing the book in his pants before trudging through the woods.   
He hears Derek and Scott and Malia as he walks, howling their goodbyes. It's a sad sound, the howling depressed and mourning. Stiles just cries harder, but he knows he needs to go back. He needs to be with Peter.   
He knows his dad will be safe. He made Scott promise to look after him. Made his dad promise to take care of himself. Even Derek said he'd keep an eye on his dad for him.   
That whole day had been filled with promises and tears. Stiles wondered how he could still cry.   
When he found the nemeton, he heard the humming. He stopped a foot from the stump, sniffling.   
"Take me back," he demanded. "Please, take me back to Peter."  
He knew the nemeton could. Knew he could spit him back out to the same time it had the first time. Knew it could suck him into 1764, back to the day he met Peter. Only if the nemeton wanted.   
"Please, I need Peter," Stiles cried softly, reaching his hand out. 'Blind faith', his mom had always said. 'Its terrifying -it feels like stepping out over a cliff. But have faith that you wont fall'.  
Stiles felt the roots tangle against his hand, curling up his wrist. He thought of Peter, those blue eyes, and he fell, eyes closed.   
He staggered forward, landed roughly on his hands and knees and felt himself suck in a breath. It was dark. The moon was still full.   
He looked up, and his breath cut short. Peter was there, further down away, shoulders hunched. Upon hearing the noise of him falling, he spun around, and Stiles felt tears in his eyes. The nemeton brought him back.   
"Peter," he gasped out. He staggered to his feet and stumbled towards him. Peter stood there, frozen in shock. "Peter."  
The sob that pulled from Stiles' chest knocked Peter into action, and he ran forward, crashing into Stiles and growling, burying his face into the crook of Stiles' neck.   
"What-"  
"I waited a whole month!" Stiles cried, hugging him tightly. "You sent me away-"  
Peter slammed his mouth against Stiles', cutting him off with a need that had Stiles breathless.   
There was no humming from the tree. It was silent as Peter kissed him, held him tightly and growled into his mouth.   
Stiles pulled away, eyes wet. He frowned up at Peter and growled in anger.   
"Don't sent me away, ever again."  
Peter crowded against him, pushing Stiles until his back hit a tree, the bark digging into his back as Peter ducked into his neck, biting him hard.   
Stiles whimpered, holding him tightly as Peter lapped at the mark.   
"I wouldnt have the strength to," Peter confessed with a growl, looking at Stiles with such raw emotion it hurt.   
Stiles kissed him hard, fingers tangling into his hair. For Peter, it had only been a few minutes, for Stiles, a month. But they both hurt the same at the distance, and they both let that hurt seep into the kiss.   
"I love you," Stiles said between kisses, speaking the words right into Peter's mouth. "I love you, you can't make me leave. I'm not leaving, ever."  
And Peter growled, biting his lower lip, grinding his hips needily against Stiles'.  
Stiles kissed him again, pulling back and taking Peter's hands in his. He knew how to keep Peter alive. He was going to. He would walk beside Peter into battle, keep him safe, and kill the son of a bitch who ever thought of hurting his mate.   
He shouldve known who it was. It had been obvious -from him threatening to kill Stiles that first meeting, to the smell of another pack on him during his last run in.   
He didn't like killing. He hated when the Nogitsune had killed using his hands. He couldnt stomach it, and the nightmares still plagued him while he slept, but he didnt think he'd have a problem killing Colin. No, he had wanted to for a long time, and know he had a reason to. Peter was his reason. He was Stiles' everything and he wasnt going to let some stuck up beta with an alpha complex take him from him. Not again. Stiles refused to leave Peter's side, and if that meant getting a little blood on his hands, then so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted in the morning!   
> I dont know how I feel about the ending, but honestly the ending to all of my books kind of suck in my opinion.   
> I hope you guys arent disappointed in how it ends! 
> 
> Also, I just posted the first chapter of The Fox and the Hound! You should check it out and let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all your comments on this book! I cant believe I've started and finished it in around a month! Usually it takes me longer to finish!   
> Ahh I'm getting emotional now. I wished this book didnt end but I'm so glad it's coming to a close! I hope you all like it! Now i can work on Ready to Comply and The Fox and the Hound, and maybe a couple one shots!   
> Thank you guys so much again I'm so grateful for you all!!


	40. Chapter 40

It had been three months since Stiles left when Derek unearthed a bundle of cloth from the ground near his house.   
The only reason he found it was because the pack had finally decided to rebuild the Hale house. They'd dug for a pipeline to be put in the basement -which was in tact enough to just need a wash up.   
The construction crew had gone home for the night, and Derek was heading back to his loft when the odd shape in the dirt pile caught his eye.   
He reached for it, the dirty cloth feeling gritty between his fingers. He shook it off before pulling the cloth off and exposing a pristine leather bound book. A familiar leather bound book that Lydia had given Stiles the day he'd left.   
The leather was worn, sun bleached. Derek unwrapped the rope that kept it shut and let both it and the cloth fall to his feet before opening the first page.  
'This book belongs to Stiles Hale' was written in Stiles' hand writing at the top. 'Protected by magic' was written underneath.   
Derek flicked through the book, the pages thin and delicate -but not as old feeling as it should. The whole thing was filled with Stiles' chicken scratch.   
He closed the book and made his way to the Camero, pulling up a group text with the pack and Stiles' dad. 

Found something. Meet at loft. 

He arrived first. Scott arrived with Kira, Lydia and Malia came next. Noah was the last to arrive, and Derek had made sure not to say a word to anyone until then. It wouldnt have been right.   
"I found it," Derek finally said. He pulled the leather bound book out from his coat, holding it in hand for the pack to see. He heard Noah take a gasping inhale, the breath getting caught in his throat.   
"Is that..?" Kira tapered off, eyes widening. Derek nodded.   
There was a lot of excitement then, and Derek managed to get everyone settled into the couches.   
"Read it!" Scott demanded. Derek nodded. They had discussed this after Stiles left. When they found it, they were going to read the whole thing, no matter how long it took.   
Derek glanced at Noah, seeing his eyes red, a small sniffle coming from him. He flipped to the first page. 

September 23, 1765  
I made it back! The nemeton took me back to the night Peter sent me away. I saved him!  
The story was wrong. Peter never had an heir. Turns out there was a plot inside the pack to get Peter killed. One beta was the ring leader. He orchestrated the whole thing, wanted Peter's alpha powers for himself.   
No worries I handled it like a bad ass!

The group chuckled at that, and Derek noted a bit of sadness permiating the room. He slipped the page, continuing to read more entries. 

March 2, 1766  
Writing with an ink and quill is so fucking difficult. I miss pens. I miss you guys. Peter's been keeping me entertained, and we've started talking about building a more permanent place to live. Sleeping in tents is fun, but I can't wait for four walls! 

June 17, 1780  
I cant believe it's been 15 years. I'm officially in my thirties. No one told me I'd get old man joints so soon.   
Dad, you're a grandpa now! We have two kids. Peter had no idea about surrogates, and wasn't a big fan of the idea, but a pack member helped. We have two boys. The oldest is Peter's.   
Jamie is three and Sam is two and a half. Sam took after me! Now there's two werefoxes in the Hale pack.   
Jamie is gonna make a great alpha one day. I miss you guys. I wish you could see them.   
I guess you're not really a grandpa, you're a great great great great grandpa, and you're barely pushing sixty!   
It's strange to think that my however many great grandchildren could be running around in 2017, and no one has a clue who they are, when my own children can barely run without tripping over nothing. 

When Derek finished that entry, Noah was crying. Actually, everyone was crying. But Noah was crying a little more than the sniffling and tears. He was actually having a hard time keeping his crying silent.   
The pack agreed to continue reading in the morning, but no one moved to leave. Instead, Noah took Derek's bed. The pack all snuggled on the couch, Malia pressed into Derek's stomach, Scott leaning against her back while Kira and Lydia took up the second couch.   
The next morning, after everyone had finished eating breakfast, Derek pulled the book back into his lap and opened it to the next entry.   
They read all day, and the pack cried and laughed. They braked for lunch and again for dinner.   
They were halfway through the book. 

August 30, 1793  
Jamie just turned 16! Damn, I'm fucking old. Peter said I was turning grey. He's one to talk, the guy has more grey hairs than I do! He's also older than me, which I remind him all the time.   
The Hale house is packed. I sometimes forget that it gets destroyed. It's so beautiful. I wonder if it gets remodeled before Talia.   
It's strange. I keep falling back into thoughts of us walking through these halls, living in these rooms, knowing in three hundred years, Derek will grow up here. It makes it all the more depressing that it burns down. Hopefully you guys can rebuild it.

Derek noticed the change in Stiles' handwriting as the entries continued. The writing seemed to mature with Stiles. They were close to the end of the book. They stopped for food breaks, naps and the occasional trip to work. When one member left, the reading stopped until they came back.   
The week after Derek had found the book had been spent like this. There were laughs and tears and moments where Derek couldn't read and Lydia took over. Noah never took over reading. Most of the time he just sat there and listened. He cried, he chuckled.   
Derek had seen to the reconstruction of the house during those moments when someone was working. The frame work had been laid, the walls built around the outside.   
He made sure it looked as close to how it had been before the fire.   
When everyone was back on his couch, Derek picked up the leather bound book and flipped to the end of the book, letting the bookmark fall to his lap as he started reading again. 

July 9, 1800,  
I'm now as old as dad. Fifties kind of suck. I grunt now when I stand up. Jamie and Sam poke fun, but just wait, they'll get there, and then I'll be the one laughing.   
Peter relinquished his role as alpha. Jamie's doing such an amazing job! Both our boys found mates. Jamie has a little girl, with another on the way. Her name is Wendy, and she's the devil.   
Sam's little one isn't even a year old yet, and Peter fucking adores him. Peter spoils the two of them. I thought it would be the other way around, but time and time again I find myself taking on the role of the party pooper.   
Now that Peter's retired, I get more time with him. We have our own little room at the end of the hall -Jamie and his mate Rose get the alpha's room now!- and we sleep in almost every day. The domestic life is a good one. I didn't think I'd fit that but it's really nice.   
Missing you guys doesnt hurt as much anymore. I still think about you every day, but its manageable. I still can't believe I'm a grandpa now. Wendy calls me daidí mhór. 

February 5, 1803  
Winter hurts. Sixty something and a werefox but I still get the old man bones.   
Peter isn't fairing any better. The fire is always going this time of year. Most times we can't even force ourselves out of bed, but that's what Wendy and James are here for. They pamper us with food in bed.   
My hands hurt from writing, and Peter is complaining about me being gone -he's cold, and I'm extra heat. 

May 3rd, 1816  
We buried Peter today. 

That had been all that was written for that entry. The loft was silent, everyone feeling the grief in those four words. It made Derek's throat close up. They had to sit there for a minute, and when Derek turned the page to the next entry, it was a couple sentences, written nearly two weeks after. 

May 25, 1816  
It hurts to breathe sometimes. I keep forgetting Peter isn't here. Jamie and Sam try to keep me company, but sometimes I can't do anything but cry. I can't even bring myself to be happy for Wendy and her mate on their baby. 

October 17, 1829  
Went to Peter's grave today. Jamie and Sam came with me this time. I think they know. I think they're worried. Theyve been spending more time with me. Wendy is alpha now. I'm so proud of my family.   
I think I'm done now. I'm putting the book somewhere safe. It's got a protection spell on it, so it wont be destroyed. There's a spot by the front porch. I think I'll put it there.   
I told Sam I want to be buried next to Peter. I know the head stones don't last -i never saw them- but we're buried by the house, a mile East, in a field. I think the field is still there. My memories aren't like they used to be. I could be wrong.   
I love you all. I miss you all. I've lived a good life. I'm happy. I hope you all are happy too. 

Derek turned the page, but the last two were empty. The whole loft was quiet. There was a heaviness in the air. Everyone knew Stiles wasn't alive. Knew he hadn't been alive for 300 years -not after he left three months ago. But this was different. This was so different, and Derek had to clear his throat as he closed the book.   
The pack stayed still, each one deep in thought.   
The sudden movement of Malia climbing off the couch caught everyone's attention, and they all watched her move to the bookcase.   
"What are you doing?" Scott asked, voice thick with emotion. Malia didn't answer him, instead picking up the book from the shelf Stiles had taken. It was the story of Peter Hale.   
She flipped through it as she made her way to the couch again, falling into the cushion beside Derek before pausing and reading silently. They hadnt read it since Stiles left.   
"It says Stiles died of old age," she said softly, her finger tracing the words of the page. "He was 82, and left behind two sons, Jamie and Sam Hale, three grandchildren, Wendy, James and Ian, and two great grandchildren, Victoria and Anthony."  
*-*  
Later that week, the pack found the field. It was overgrown, and they spent the whole day fixing it up. They pulled up saplings, removed bushes, weed wacked and even got a mower out.   
It was during that clean up that Lydia had found stone. It was buried deep, and was only spotted when she pulled out a rather stubborn weed.   
"Do you think it's the head stones?" Malia had asked. No one had said anything. That night, Derek called the funeral home to get a stone made.   
He didn't tell anyone until it was set where the old stone used to be.   
He didn't put much on it. When he got the pack and Noah over, they'd all cried. Noah held onto Derek and thanked him.   
Written on the tombstone was:  
Here lies  
Peter Hale Stiles Hale  
1733 - 1816 1995 - 1829

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate how this turned out but here you guys go! Last chapter.  
> It didnt turn out how I wanted it to, but I dont know how to fix it so this is it!
> 
> If you havent already check out The Fox and the Hound! First chapter is up.


End file.
